


Contractually Obligated, at Least Out of Uniform

by snack_size



Series: Common Law [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Bruce's Giant Bag of Weed, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Natasha Supports Fun, Navigating the 21st Century, PTSD - Steve and Clint, Relationship Beginnings, Stark Ex Machina, Team Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-09
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-11-24 06:20:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 57,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/631378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snack_size/pseuds/snack_size
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance encounter in the SHIELD hallway leads Clint and Steve, post-Avengers, to get to know each other better when everyone else is off having adventures. Things develop slowly, and awkwardly, and probably only thanks to one well timed comment by Tony. From there, Clint and Steve try to navigate a new reality, each other, and their various past traumas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Agent Barton?”

Clint looked up, a little surprised, since not many people were in the habit of initiating pointless but polite chatter with him in the hallways lately. He was more surprised to see that the person addressing him was Captain America. Well, Steve Rogers, since he was wearing a flannel shirt and old man pants - which he, of course, managed to make look good.

“Captain.” Clint looked off to the side, hoping to give off the impression that he had lots of important things to do. He hadn’t seen Steve, or any of the others besides Natasha, since they had packed Loki off with Thor three weeks ago. Maybe four weeks ago? Time flies when you’re off active duty and all you have to do is go and speak with therapists and psychiatrists and grief counselors.

“How are you?”

“Fine, thanks,” Clint said. Steve smiled, and Clint sighed. “You?”

“Yes, fine, thanks.” Normally, Clint would have muttered something and just went on his way, but it was hard to do that to an American Institution. 

“You’re working here?” Clint asked.

“No.” Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “Just came in to speak with Agent Hill.” He gave a slight smile again, and Clint felt a sudden lurch as he understood the whole point to this awkward exchange. There was a certain desperation in Steve’s eyes that looked a lot like what stared back at Clint most mornings when he was brushing his teeth. 

“So you don’t have anything urgent..?” Clint asked, because...well, for one thing, Steve hadn’t had any reason to just believe Natasha that Clint was well and ready to fight Loki and his minions. And wasn’t like anyone else in SHIELD would have allowed him out of that room to go and fight. So Clint sort of owed him. Plus, he looked legitimately...lonely. 

“No.” Steve shook his head. 

“You drink coffee? We could get coffee.” Clint hoped that this was a sort of normal practice - you saved the world together, you could commiserate over lattes, right? More normal than shawarma, at least. Or falafel, if you were a vegetarian member of their entourage.

“Oh, sure,” Steve said, and he rubbed the back of his neck again. “The cafeteria-”

“Fuck that,” Clint said, and then paused, because it felt wrong to swear in front of someone he had watched on film strips in first grade. “There’s a place around the corner. A lot of places around the corner, actually.” 

“Sure,” Steve said.

They didn’t say anything more as they made their way out of the building. Clint side-eyed an agent in the elevator who appeared overly concerned about the two of them together - and why was it that no one was pissed at or suspicious of Selvig, but they were treating Clint like radioactive waste? He knew the answer, of course - they had watched him take down colleagues and the Helicarrier while Selvig had been tucked away, engineering Loki’s path to world domination. 

Steve inhaled sharply when they were outside, almost in Times Square, then looked flustered. “Sorry, I - when I first woke up...”

“I know,” Clint said, to spare him from having to tell the story. 

“Right, of course,” Steve said.

“I mean, I was there.” Clint shrugged.

“I don’t remember-”

“Out of sight, ready to stick you with some tranquilizer if we needed it.” Clint resisted the urge to grin, because then Steve might interpret it as a joke. 

“I see,” Steve said. “I guess that was...prudent.” 

“You want Starbucks or Cosi?” Clint asked. Steve pressed his lips together, and Clint wondered if this was legitimately a difficult decision for someone who still adjusting to waking up seventy years in the future.

“It’s just strange, you know, everyone drinks the same coffee now,” Steve said, and smiled. “Starbucks can’t be that bad, right, everyone goes there?” 

“Yes,” Clint said. “Even Natasha goes there.” He glanced to the side slightly, because Steve wouldn’t know why that was a joke. 

Steve ordered first, and then Clint, and Steve pulled his wallet out but Clint waved his hand. “I invited you,” he said, and cringed inwardly, because that was something you said on a date - and he certainly wasn’t on a date with Captain America. 

Clint chose a seat in the corner, tucked near the single bathroom. Starbucks, Natasha had once told him, provided a true service to SHIELD with their single person sized bathrooms - apparently Natasha made frequent use of them when she was following someone, needed to change outfits, or just freshen up. Clint had never thought of things that way, and, when pressed, admitted that if he were stuck on top of a rooftop for hours or days, he would just pee in the corner furthest from his own. 

“So...” Clint said.

“You live in New York?” Steve asked, and began to dump sugar packets into his coffee. Clint was pretty sure he put five in. Maybe even six.

“I’ve got a place,” he said. He had a place in SHIELD’s main offices. Before, Clint had been too practical to spend money on an apartment in New York when he had one at the SHIELD offices. Now, he was beginning to reconsider things.

“You stay at HQ, right?” Steve asked. He pushed a small pile of sugar packets aside and smiled at Clint, who nodded. “I asked them to find something else for me, though the apartments looked nice.” 

“Where?” Clint asked.

“Brooklyn,” Steve said. “My old neighborhood, kind of, except now its overrun by all these artists and designers and-”

“I think the term you’re looking for is hipsters,” Clint replied.

“I was going to art school, in the 40s,” Steve said. “I thought I would have liked it, but it’s not the same.” 

Instead of commenting on that statement, Clint decided to divert. “I can’t believe Fury is paying for you to have an apartment out there instead of telling you it was a waste of SHIELD resources and then putting you in Queens.”

“No objection,” Steve said. “I think he sort of felt bad about his whole waking me up plan going...poorly.”

“Wasn’t his plan,” Clint said, and maybe he shouldn’t have said it, but who the fuck cared, at this point? “It was Agent Hill’s.”

“Oh. But she seems-”

“She’s very competent,” Clint replied. “But not when it comes to...people.” _You have to stop blaming yourself, Barton,_ she had said to him. _It’s not like you were the one that killed him._ “You like the apartment?”

“They got most of the period details right,” Steve said.

“I am so sorry,” Clint said, and he was surprised how comfortable he felt. He hadn’t got much of a read on Steve, outside of battle. Actually most of his understanding of who the guy was had been filled in by several Tony Stark impressions from when Clint had drank with him on the damaged roof of Stark Tower after shawarma, but before sending Thor off. “To be fair, we are in the business of global threat containment, not historically accurate research.” 

Steve laughed at this, and Clint took a sip of his chai latte. He’d been trying to avoid caffeine since New York. It made him feel sick to his stomach, probably somewhere between the amount of Ambien and Ativan he was taking. 

“You’re a big baseball fan?” Clint asked, because why dance around it and pretend that, as part of his _neck dart Captain America if he gets a little too physical_ assignment he hadn’t been diligent and read the file.

“Yeah, and that sucked, waking up and finding out my team is in Los Angeles.” Clint nodded. “Who do you follow?”

Clint took another sip. “Mets, I guess, when I can get tickets. I, uh, should be a good Midwestern boy and like baseball, but I could never get into it.”

“Football?” Steve asked.

“Hockey,” Clint said. “The only sport with more violence allowed by the rules.” 

“Huh,” Steve said, and it occurred to Clint that neither the NHL or the NFL were huge presences back in the forties. “I saw a game on television, this past May, I think. For the playoffs. It looked pretty cool.” 

“I’ve got season tickets,” Clint said. “Well, sort of. Split them up amongst a bunch of agents, since you never know when we’ll be in town.” 

“Rangers, right?”

“No, fuck that, man,” Clint said, and almost blushed, because he had sworn in front of Captain America again. “Devils. They actually win Stanley Cups. Anyway, I could take you to a game.” 

Steve looked down at his coffee, and Clint felt stupid - though he felt that way about everything he did and said, lately. Still. This had actually been all right, not that awkward, probably the best social interaction he’d had all week. “Yeah,” Steve said. “If you don’t mind.” 

“You’ll be better company than Sitwell,” Clint said, and felt a lump rise in his throat. He coughed, but Steve seemed to catch what was going on.

“Oh. I’m sorry, Clint.” 

“You’re apologizing?” Clint asked. 

Steve shrugged. “If I had my head out of my ass, maybe that might not have happened. Instead, I had to get into a pissing contest with Stark.” Deflection, this time, Clint decided, and opened his mouth slightly. “What?”

“I didn’t know Captain America was allowed to swear,” Clint replied.

“Well, not contractually,” Steve said. “But I think that only applies when I’m in uniform.” He looked over to the side, and Clint recognized that defense mechanism, the one that you employed when you were fairly certain you were saying something witty but then at the last moment second guessed yourself and wanted to minimize the damage. 

“That’s good,” Clint said. “I wouldn’t even be able to uphold that standard.”

Steve shrugged, and seemed to blush slightly, which was really adorable - and Clint had to tell himself, _no, back off, Barton, you do not need to go there. Not now. And not with him._

Steve finished the rest of his coffee. “You around, then, next few weeks?”

“I am not going anywhere,” Clint said, because the way things were going, he would be back on active duty sometime in the middle of 2013, and that was assuming Natasha pitched a fit about missing him.

“Good - I mean, not good, for you, but this was nice...?” Steve said, and Clint nodded, so Steve continued. “I’m just tired of talking to people who...”

“Yeah,” Clint said, as Steve looked down, apparently still not sure Clint wasn’t embarrassed by him admitting that he was lonely. “Look, you probably still know the City better than I do, but I could show you some things - restaurants. I eat out a lot.” And how do you phrase that, without feeling like you’re asking someone out on a date? How did men his age make friends, anyway? 

“I can always eat,” Steve said.

“Or we could spar,” Clint replied, because that was more manly, right? Or less, really, depending on how you looked at it.

“I don’t know-”

“What, you think you’ll break me?” Clint asked, raising his eyebrows. “You are so on, Rogers.” Steve grinned at this, and looked at his watch. 

“I was going to head to the gym, actually.” 

“Yeah? OK,” Clint said. “Though maybe not a good idea, get you hopped up on caffeine and-”

“That?” Steve asked, waving at the coffee. “Hardly, I...I have a really fast metabolism.” _Right,_ Clint thought, but just nodded. 

Later, back in cramped apartment - though much better than anyone below Level 6 clearance got, he at least had a separate bedroom, bathroom, and living space - he thought about how he was going to write about today in the mandatory journal one of his therapists was making him keep. _Dear Diary, today I asked Captain America for coffee and then he beat me up. He’s as awesome as you think he is!_ Instead, he opted for a straight, four sentence recitation of the facts. They could make him write, but they apparently couldn’t mandate length or content - this, at least, would be an improvement for his therapist, who had to read about his bowel movements for the past week.

He was a little surprised when his phone rang, and smiled when he saw that the number was international. “I just woke up,” he said.

“Don’t fuck with me, Barton,” Natasha said on the other line. 

“Do you even know what time zone you’re in?” he asked. 

“Not specifically, no. One of China’s.” 

“The Mandarin?” he asked, and he should have been out there with her. 

“He’s taken an interest in Stark,” Natasha said. “But - we’re fine, for now.” 

“Guy could use a vacation,” Clint replied. “Nearly poisoned himself, synthesized a highly rare earth metal in his garage, hurtled himself into a portal to who knows where in outer space with a nuke-”

“I think he was trying to,” Natasha replied. “Anyway, how are you?”

“You’re really going to ask that?”

“How are your Sims doing?” she asked.

“Hey, I went out today. I went downstairs and I ran into Cap - Steve. We got coffee,” Clint said. 

“Steve Rogers?” she replied. “You went on a coffee date with Captain America?” 

“Not a date,” Clint replied. “Just a little catch-up, you know, after saving the world.”

“Riight,” Natasha said.

“The guy doesn’t know anyone,” Clint replied.

“Barton, behave,” Natasha said, then said goodbye to him in Russian.


	2. Chapter 2

Clint was a little surprised to get an e-mail from Steve two days later. _Liked our workout. Want to go again?_ Clint quickly typed a reply, then wondered if he should be self-conscious about it - but that would only apply if they weren’t just two men - two guys - scheduling a mutually beneficial training session so that they might continue to be super heroes.

“I hope you don’t take this the wrong way,” Steve said, as they stretched, “But I was a little surprised, last time...that it was so hard for me.”

Clint contained his smile. “How much training have you had in hand-to-hand, martial arts..?”

“None,” Steve said. “I didn’t even really do basic, just a week to determine who would get the serum.” 

“Right, so - obviously, your...strength gives you a huge advantage, but I’ve spent a lot of time learning how to...” Clint paused, not sure how to phrase the next part of what he wanted to say - it wasn’t like he was self-conscious of his own stature, especially since he had learned to leverage it so well in these situations. 

Fortunately, Steve bailed him out. “Yeah, so...you can teach me some stuff?”

“Sure,” Clint said, finishing by pulling his left arm behind his head and tugging. “But you’d want to talk to your handler, to get some of the experts in.” Steve nodded, and Clint smiled, because he didn’t know if Steve knew about Coulson and how long he and Clint had worked together. Longest handler-asset relationship SHIELD had - or drunk Fury was just saying that at the Christmas party to raise their self esteem after Myanmar. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Steve said. “But maybe also...start with the basics?”

“Sure,” Clint said, and they moved to the middle of the sparring ring. 

It certainly wasn’t easy, but Clint managed to knock Steve off his center of balance - and, to be fair, without really intending to - and then was able to quickly pin him, taking advantage at Steve’s confusion over falling on his ass. “OK,” Steve said, and he grinned when Clint offered him his hand.

Steve took their next bout, but it took nearly ten minutes. Clint had to break for a long drink from his water bottle before they went for the third, and this time he wound up with Steve pulling his arm behind his back and forcing him to bend over. _Oh, come on,_ Clint thought, but Steve quickly released him before Clint was able to get too involved with where they could go from there. “One more?” Steve asked.

“I’m game,” Clint said, and Steve nodded. They wound up both grappling each other on the ground, neither ceding any ground, and finally Steve wound up laughing. Clint followed, and Steve took the opportunity to wrap his leg around Clint and force him onto his back. _I don’t need this,_ Clint thought. “Well played,” he said. 

Steve grinned and stood up, and this time Steve pulled him up. He glanced over at the clock on the wall. “Shower, and then, maybe, something to eat? I mean, if you don’t...”

“Captain - Steve. I can always eat.” 

“Tell me about it,” Steve said, and he scooped Clint and Steve’s bag up from the ground and headed towards the shower. 

“Well, it’s a little different,” Steve added, out of nowhere, and then he glanced down. “But you already know that. I keep forgetting you’ve all read-”

“You haven’t?” Clint asked.

“We all have,” Steve replied. 

Clint was grateful that SHIELD had invested in single showers for their agents to use - or, at least, the upper level operatives. He could see how communal showers might be a kind of hazing device, which was why Clint had always presumed they were used in high schools. 

“What are you in the mood for?” he asked when he was done showering and was back in his clothes. Steve seemed to have emerged from the shower a few minutes before Clint had - probably something that he had learned during the war. 

“Anything, really, I’m pretty open-” 

“I know a pretty good Mexican place in Hell’s Kitchen...” Clint said.

“I have actually never had Mexican before,” Steve said, and Clint nodded. It was a fairly short walk from SHIELD headquarters, and for a few moments, Clint almost regretted taking Steve there - it was a fairly frequent hangout for agents, and all of his visits had either been with a group, Coulson, and/or Natasha. Then he glanced at his watch and was relieved to see that it was four, and no agent that wanted to keep their job would be out eating at this hour. 

The hostess didn’t recognize him either, which he knew he shouldn’t be surprised by - it had been almost two, three months since he’d been here last. She glanced at him and Steve and grinned at both with them, which went completely over Steve’s head but caused Clint to glance down. 

“You know, I remember when this was actually a disreputable neighborhood,” Steve said, and nodded at Clint. “Full of mobsters. Now it’s just like where I live now.” 

“There aren’t that many neighborhoods close to Manhattan that haven’t been gentrified,” Clint said, and immediately took a chip from the basket that was set in front of them and scooped it into the salsa.

“How spicy is that?” Steve asked. Clint shook his head, and tried but not succeed in stifling his laughter when Steve made a face and fanned his hands at his mouth. “We have different definitions,” Steve said. 

“Don’t drink the water,” Clint advised. “It will just make it worse.” Steve raised his eyebrows. “Spreads the capsaicin - or whatever - around your mouth. You need a margarita.” 

“Oh, actually-”

“Just because you can’t get drunk doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy a margarita,” Clint replied.

“From what I remember, the only enjoyable thing about alcohol is that it got you drunk,” Steve replied. 

“Well, then you can get a flavorful one,” Clint said, and was pleased when the pomengranate margarita he suggested came in a deep pink color. Steve scratched the back of his head, and then shrugged.

“It’s not bad,” he said, after a sip. “And it worked.”

“Told you,” Clint said. “I have experience with spicy food. Once I tried to make this thing for a, uh, old girlfriend, and I ended up with first degree burns on my hands from the chilis.”

“Really?” Steve asked.

“That’s my public service announcement for today,” Clint added. 

Before that evening, Clint would never guessed that he and Steve Rogers would have enough to talk about to get through a dinner conversation. But, after describing various menu items and then having Steve suggest Clint just order - solidifying the waiter’s opinion that they were on a date - they then moved onto some movies that Steve had watched recently and had unique perspectives on.

“It was supposed to be a comedy?” Steve asked.

“Dark comedy,” Clint said. “Where are you getting your recommendations from, anyway?” 

“I just watch stuff on television,” Steve replied. Clint shook his head.

“No, no - they didn’t at least set you up with Netflix?” 

“Is that some kind of...pornography?” Steve asked. “Because I’m pretty sure I get that on my tv.” The way he said it was so earnest that Clint, at first, didn’t know how to take it coming out of the mouth of a man who had fought in harrowing war battles, commanded them against a legion of aliens, and was able to take Tony Stark seriously. 

“Um, no,” Clint said. “Though I do not doubt you might have pornography on your television. Does it come on after eleven?” There was a joke there, of course, about Steve seeing women’s ankles or cleavage, but Clint could tell that it would ruin the still tenuous...thing that was developing between them. 

“I don’t sleep that much,” Steve answered.

“Yeah, I know how that goes.” 

“Except you probably need eight hours,” Steve replied. _Well, this is a neat parallel to our earlier conversation,_ Clint thought.

“I have never slept well,” Clint replied. This was not true. He used to sleep like a baby after most missions, even the gruesome ones. It wasn’t until Loki and the three days when, any time he found his eyelids fluttering from sheer exhaustion, some sort of energy from the Tesseract would snap him awake and only give him enough to function highly on the levels Loki needed him too. Clint would never have thought rage and adrenaline would be enough to get him to fight the battle in Manhattan. He had not been surprised that he passed out on the floor of the office building, despite his injuries. He was a little surprised to see Thor waking him up. 

_I wasn’t really going to shoot you,_ he said, because for a moment he thought they were back in New Mexico and Thor was trying to retrieve his magic-alien-god hammer from the mud.

 _I know,_ Thor said, and it took Clint a few days to realize that the sadness in his tone was related to Loki, and how Thor was expressing to him that he knew Clint wouldn’t have done it under his own volition. 

Steve seemed to sense Clint’s uneasiness, and he fiddled with some chips and salsa before he said, “I slept a lot - I was sick a lot, but I still had to work. Bucky and I - my...well, you know who Bucky is - when we were eighteen and moved out of the orphanage we got this piece of shit apartment and did all of these jobs. I did them, no matter how crap I felt, and then I would just come and crash. Then Bucky would wake me up, tell me to get up, we were going dancing and out to meet dames...” Steve looked off into the distance.

“We don’t call them dames anymore,” Clint said, hoping to add much needed levity. That used to be what he did - comic relief. It had come naturally.

“Right, of course,” Steve said, and then he leaned in, and that sweet, earnest look was back on his face. “What do you call them?” 

“Well...” Clint said. “That is a good question. If they’re my age, women-”

“Because we’re in different age brackets?” Steve asked.

“Yes,” Clint replied, and Steve pressed his lips together. Clint was pretty sure that fifteen years qualified as a different age bracket. “I mean, you, conceivably, may find yourself with someone who might not mind being called a girl.”

“Really?” Steve asked.

“Sure,” Clint said. “Some women like to be called girls because it makes them think you think they’re young.” Steve nodded. “Chicks - avoid that, and probably also bitches. Hos. Ladies - no one likes ladies.” Steve smiled at this, and Clint waved at the waiter to indicate he wanted a third margarita. Not like he had a long walk home. 

Steve took the check from the waitress as soon as she put it on the table. “You got the coffee,” he said.

“Yes, but...completely different,” Clint replied, and was a little ashamed that he was slightly intoxicated off of three margaritas. Large margaritas, but still - he hadn’t felt comfortable drinking since Loki. He didn’t want to cede any more control unless absolutely necessary. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Steve said, and carefully counted out several bills and tucked them into the billfold. “I not only got backpay, but it accrued interest. And Howard did some investing for me, somehow.” 

“Oh, huh, wow,” the waitress said, when she opened the billfold and saw actual cash inside. “You’re probably, like, the last person on earth who pays in cash.” Steve nodded and smiled at her, but Clint could spot a gesture that empty from a considerable distance away. “I’ll bring your change back.” 

Steve shook his head at Clint. “I had a good time. Again.”

“Well, that’s good,” Clint said, and stumbled, from there - everything that came to mind was sleazy or sounded like some form of come on. “I did too,” he said, settling.

“Great,” Steve said. “Because, I’ve tried...but people seem intimidated, I don’t know why, you know, I’d just like to talk...”

“Probably because they grew up watching film strips on you in school,” Clint said, leaning in because the waitress was approaching. “Though use of the term film strip dates me.” 

“I hope they’re not too embarrassing,” Steve said.

Clint shrugged. He barely remembered them, or a lot about school, really. He’d stopped going regularly when he was ten - when his father decided that they were going to buy a couple of carnival games and make their money that way. 

“When did you start learning archery?” Steve asked. Clint decided to add preternatural perception to the list of things the serum had altered in Steve.

“When I was eleven - maybe twelve. In the circus,” Clint said. It had just been a whim, to start, he would play one of the games that another guy owned that involved a crossbow that you could move side to side. The next thing Clint knew he was getting archery lessons from Carson, the trick shot artist for the circus they were attached to.

“You were in a traveling circus?” Steve asked. 

“It’s, uh, not as cool as it sounds,” Clint said - in almost every town, some kids would be throwing rocks at he and Barney after everything closed, and in the beginning they would get beaten and accused of cheating on one game of chance or another.

“No, probably not,” Steve said. 

“Though I did stand on a moving horse and shoot targets,” Clint said.

“That’s pretty...cool,” Steve said, a little uneasy on the last word. 

“Well...yeah,” Clint said. 

“Thanks for taking me here,” Steve said. “I liked the food.”

“It’s going to start a dark descent for you, Steve,” Clint said, and he felt awkward using Steve’s name for some reason. “Do you know how many street taco vendors there are in this city?” Steve smiled, and then carefully counted his change and left a very generous tip on the table. 

“I never know if I’m leaving enough...but, it doesn’t matter, its not like I have expenses.” 

“SHIELD pays for all your apartment...things?” Clint asked, and hey, he was a real adult, wasn’t he, because he’d spent so long living in places SHIELD had paid for he couldn’t immediately call up the various expenses that came from living on your own.

“I guess so,” Steve said. “I haven’t seen any bills, at least. I don’t think I even get mail. You should, uh, come out that way next time? Tell me more about hipsters?” His voice was soft when he said this, as if he was almost embarrassed - but it relieved Clint, because they were two grown ass men and neither of them was particularly good with this. Whatever this was - Clint didn’t want to assume anything, and, really, he was fine with friendship. More than fine.

“Sure,” Clint said.

“Maybe this weekend?”

“Doesn’t really matter,” Clint said. “I’m not on active duty.”

“Oh. What do you do, then?”

“Attend therapy sessions. Work out. Talk about all of my feelings. Look at stupid shit on the Internet and watch _Law and Order: SVU_ on Netflix.”

Steve nodded. “I’m sort of in the same place. Except you’ll have to show me this Netflix.” 

“Tomorrow works,” Clint said, and Steve smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve had thought, once he understood how and when he had been found, that he was probably in for a long and lonely future. 

Interacting with the other Avengers after the battle he understood that he really didn't have any idea what was going on half the time. And he didn’t want much to do with SHIELD after their bait and switch. This meant, after everything, he was pretty sure he was going to have a hard time making friends. So he had been taken aback by easily things fell together with Clint - though Steve suspected that part of it was because Clint reminded Steve a bit of Bucky, and not just because they were both sharp shooters or had similar backgrounds, but more in the way they could instantly switch between gregarious and taciturn. 

Steve walked Clint through his new - his old - neighborhood and pointed out the various locations where he used to get beaten up. Clint had raised his eyebrows at that, and Steve had shrugged. It had definitely been more convincing the first time around. Steve also talked about what things used to be, and, after some internal debate, entered one of the new bakeries only to find it exclusively sold cupcakes and was staffed by a young man with a handlebar mustache. They proceeded to get something to eat at an old-fashioned deli that was fairly plausible. Then they went into an antique shop that sold a lot of items that Steve remembered from his childhood.  
“If you like it, buy it,” Clint said, as Steve fingered a scratchy table cloth and looked at some planters.

“I’m supposed to try and move forward,” Steve said. “Not dwell on the past.”

“I have been talking to those assholes - I’m sorry, those reputable professionals - for weeks now, Steve,” Clint said, “and I’m pretty sure they don’t know what they’re talking about. You should decorate your apartment with stuff you like. It’s not like plenty of other people - in your very neighborhood - also don’t buy this stuff. You should get that throw pillow, at least.”

Steve turned, and then pressed his lips together when he saw a knit - or crochet, he didn’t really know - throw pillow of his shield. “I’m good,” he said. Clint shrugged, and then smiled at him. Their last stop was a grocery store, on Clint’s suggestion, probably because of the empty refrigerator Clint saw when he first came over. “Really?” he said, closing the door. “With your metabolism?” It was still strange, how much Clint knew about him - but it also made things a lot easier, in terms of exposition. 

“Thanks, Mom,” Steve said, as Clint tossed some fruit into their shopping cart. “There’s always something open...”

“You can’t live off taco vendors, Steve,” Clint replied, and Steve didn’t challenge that, even though he got the impression that if there wasn’t a canteen in the SHIELD offices, Clint would live off taco vendors.

Steve felt a little self conscious when they both heading back upstairs in the elevator. There was something about grocery shopping that was intimately domestic. It might be why he had avoided for so long - but he was able to put that thought out of his head when he was hit with a thick, familiar smell when the elevator opened. “Well, looks like my neighbor is at it again.” 

“At what?” Clint asked, setting some of the groceries down on the floor outside of Steve’s door.

“Marijuana,” Steve said. “We had that, back then, you know. My mom used to tell me about how the cough syrup she gave me as a kid had cocaine in it.” Clint raised his eyebrows at that, and Steve glanced at his neighbor’s door. “It just...we must share some duct work, or something, because I smell it all the time-”

“Your SHIELD issue apartment is a little disappointing, you being a national war hero icon and everything,” Clint replied. “I wonder what Fury would think, the fact that you live next to a drug addict.” 

Steve had the key in the door when his neighbor’s door opened. Steve hadn’t seen Grant since the first day he had moved in, and Grant had taken that time to grow a handlebar mustache. “Heey...” Grant said, and looked Steve and Clint up and down. “Hey, man.” 

“Hello,” Clint said, and arched his eyebrows so that his sunglasses slid down slightly.

“Aw, shit, are you a cop or something? You look like you would date a cop, shit...”

“I’m not a cop,” Clint said, and Grant was immediately relieved.

“Not technically,” Steve said. 

“OK,” said Grant. He grinned at Clint. 

“Who are you talking to?” came a woman’s voice from inside.

“My neighbor!” Grant yelled back, and then grinned at them. “You guys want to come in, you know, maybe smoke a little...”

“Uh...” Steve said.

“We have groceries to put away,” Clint said.

“Oh, hey, that’s cool, that’s cool,” Grant said. “I get it, you want to be domestic. I can just, you know, give you some, you know, in a neighborly exchange?”

“Are you trying to sell me weed?” Steve asked, leaning in. He felt bad when Grant took a few steps back into the room - Grant was a few inches shorter than him and a good deal lighter. Steve sometimes, even still, forgot about his new stature. 

“We’re good for now, thanks,” Clint said. 

“I finished the blunt!” came the voice from inside. “Why don’t you invite them in?”

“Hey, I will be back in!” Grant said, and held out his hand to Clint. “Thanks, man. Have a nice night.” Clint shook it. Then Grant winked at Steve, for a reason that Steve couldn’t ascertain.

“Well,” Clint said, after they got everything inside. “It’s been a long time since someone has tried to sell me weed.”

“I don’t think-” Steve began, and opened up one of the glass bottles of Coke they got from the grocery store. He took a sip and smiled, losing what he was saying. The taste was pretty close.

“That alright?” Clint asked, and Steve was a little surprised that it seemed like he wanted Steve to be enjoying it, and Steve stopped for a moment because the moment felt strange. Then he realized he was getting worked up over something so simple - even though, cognitively, he knew it was alright - or, that it was _normal,_ according to his own SHIELD therapist, to feel overwhelmed by these things _after a traumatic experience, let alone experiences_. Still, it shook him - he wasn’t some...teenager, with his brain still struggling to interpret things. 

“Yeah,” Steve finally managed.

“It’s OK,” Clint said. “I might not look it, but I am old enough to be hit by waves of nostalgia every now and again.” It was clear, though, from the way that Clint smiled with just his mouth that he _knew_ that Steve had just had a moment. There was, according to the Internet and a pamphlet Steve had, a sort of standard glassy-eyed look during disassociation.

“I’m being impolite,” Steve said. “Do you want one?”

“Oh,” Clint said, and reached into another canvas bag. “I bought a forty ounce.” Steve had to smile at the oversized beer bottle. “Can I have your bottle opener?”

“I don’t think I have one-” Steve began, and Clint cocked his head at the Coke bottle. “Oh. I just...opened it.” 

“Right,” Clint said, and Steve felt a little flush - and how did you go about explaining to people, now, when everyone’s priorities were so different, that he hadn’t gone through the serum process entirely for himself? 

They looked at each other for a moment, and Steve sipped on his Coke and Clint took a very long swig of his beer, and then Clint coughed. _Fuck,_ Steve thought, though he took some comfort in the fact it wasn’t just him. 

“You want me to show you how Netflix works?” Clint asked, finally. Steve nodded. “You’ve got a lot to catch up on.” 

* * 

After the past week, he should have been able to go to sleep a little bit easier, but Steve found himself still tossing and turning and watching the minutes tick by on his alarm clock. When he first moved into the apartment he thought he would be lulled to sleep by the sounds of the city around him, by all of the activity, sounds that assured him that he was not alone. When he had been in Europe he had longed for those sounds and noises, and it was just one more thing to add to the list. 

There had been a time, after all, when things were easy - sure, he’d had a laundry list of health problems and was the paradigm of the _before_ in Charles Atlas ads, but he had Bucky. And, sometimes, even other guys they had grown up with in the orphanage when he and Bucky ran into them when they were at the movies, out dancing, drinking in some alley in the neighborhood. And even if the dames - the women, he corrected himself - even if they hadn’t wanted him and had rolled their eyes at their friends in desperation, it made sense. 

They were out one night at some cramped, sweaty club and Steve was sent to go and get the next round of drinks. When he came back, Bucky and his girl had gone to dance. Steve’s date - Helen, Alice, Rose - was at the table with her head down on one of her folded arms. “Everything OK?” Steve asked. 

“You know, nothing against you, cause you’re a nice guy,” she said, “but...I just realized tonight - I’m the ugly friend.” She turned and looked at Steve, and he could see she had wanted to hurt him, but only because she was hurt.

“Aw, well,” Steve said, and it hadn’t hurt, because he had built up all the defenses he needed for that kind of thing. “For you, it’s only for tonight. For me...” He took a sip of his drink, and she quirked a smile at him. Sure, he had wanted a lot of them. Not like that - unlike Bucky, he wanted to get to know someone, marry someone, settle down - but he at least wanted a chance, a kiss. Steve had probably been more bent out of shape about all of it at the time, but it seemed like it had happened centuries ago, between the war and waking up now. It was easy to long for that kind of thing, because at least then there had been certainty. 

He didn’t see Clint again for another three days, after Clint sent him an e-mail, or a text, or whatever it was to Steve’s phone and asked if he had been avoiding him because he’d run out Icy-Hot. It took Steve a few moments on the computer - Google was his savior, 95% of the time - to figure out what Clint meant, and he had grinned and replied that he thought Clint just needed some time to rest up. 

Clint had set up a room with obstacles and impediments, gym equipment that was designed for this sort of thing, and Steve grinned. “Things were a little too vanilla for you?” Steve asked.

Clint bit at his lower lip and Steve glanced away - it was clear from Clint's expression vanilla now meant something more than _plain_. “I mean, you wanted to make it more interesting.”

“Yeah,” Clint said, with a slight huff, and then gave Steve a tentative smile. “You ready?” Steve nodded.

Their last of four bouts took almost ten minutes, and it was Clint who finally took Steve by surprise by using one of the triangle shaped ramps to launch himself at an improbable angle. His low kick hit Steve right in the back of the knee. Steve crumpled in a pretty undignified way - it hadn’t hurt, not really, and he would recover from it fairly soon. It was more a combination of the move being completely unexpected and whatever the serum had done to him not stopping the sharp, alarming scream from certain exposed, raw nerves. He had first learned that he hadn’t been granted immunity in that respect the hard way, thanks to Bucky getting drunk and testing things out with a baseball bat and Steve’s groin. If Steve just hadn’t rescued him after being certain that he was dead, he probably would have stopped talking to him for two or three days. 

Steve laid flat on his back, then pulled his knee up and stretched. “Well,” he said. Clint lay down next to him, moving in an easy and elegant way. 

“Well indeed,” came a voice, and both of them sat up. Steve wasn’t sure what expression he had, but Clint had an almost embarrassed smile on his face. Then he said something in what Steve presumed to be Russian.

“Hello, Agent Romanov,” Steve added. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a SHIELD jacket, and Steve had to wonder if she only had one or two off duty uniforms - the only difference between this one and the one she had worn to see Loki off was that her boots were flat rather than heeled. 

“He got me like that, once, too,” she replied, and tucked a bit of hair behind her head. “I’m sorry for interrupting. Only Agen-Clint was signed in.”

“It’s not a problem, ma’am,” Steve added, and there was an amused smirk on her face for a moment - apparently after you fought on the ground with someone against an alien invasion you could drop that kind of thing, even for someone like Agent Romanov, who Steve sensed might appreciate certain formalities.

“Natasha, please,” she said. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“We’re done, actually,” Clint said. Steve nodded.

“Good,” Natasha said. “I have a few things I would like to discuss with you.” Clint nodded, and he snapped into action with the military efficiency Steve knew he was capable of. Steve drew himself upwards a little slower - and it wasn’t like he had that kind of precision, anyway, he’d never gone through basic and going to war with the Commandos hadn’t exactly been SOP. 

“Again on Thursday?” Clint asked, and Steve nodded as Clint walked out of the door with Natasha, not really understanding why he felt so awkward all of the sudden.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains mentions of PTSD, wartime violence, and Steve finally giving into the pressures of the pot dealer next door.

He should have people to talk to - about what he did with his day, about how he felt about just fighting aliens and space whales, about why he felt so unsettled around Clint all of the sudden. Well, since Clint had come to his apartment. Was it too soon? But then again, wasn’t that what friends did? Television led him to believe so. They came over, watched the game, drank beers - unless they had a central hangout. So why was he worried about soon? 

Steve sat on his couch, glass Coke bottle to his right, television on mute, and tried to think what Bucky would tell him - though, if Bucky were around, it was possible he would have just been cordial with Clint. Or merely sparred with him. Certainly not gone grocery shopping with him. But, that contextualization aside, Bucky would probably laugh at him for analyzing things, because for Bucky, all social interactions were natural. It was easy when you looked like he did and when your charms were all right there for people to bask in. Bucky was always telling Steve to stop over thinking things - dames, especially, and... Steve paused, then shook his head, remembering how Bucky had reacted to finding Steve in the alley with another male wall flower from that evening’s dance hall. Steve had expected revulsion and dire pronouncements about their friendship, when instead Bucky had this amused smirk and then never spoke to him about it.

And then there was Peggy - who would tell him the same thing, but probably would say he mulled over things too much. She would hit the nail on the head, too, while still making it sound nice. Though, he reminded himself, it wasn’t like she...but it’s not like he could initiate a phone call with, “Hey, Peggy, I’m trying to make some new friends” - and how juvenile did that sound? 

He put her aside, because he had to. The others would have helped, too - Dumdum, Gabe, Jim, Falsworth, even Dernier would make hand motions and facial expressions to get things across. Steve had to wonder if he’d fallen in with them so easily because of the war, or because they came from the same time and understood each other - the later, at least, suggesting he wasn’t a complete social failure. 

On Thursday, Steve sighed and pulled on his cotton pants and SSR shirt. He’d used SHIELD issue shorts, the previous times, but he preferred his own gear. When he stepped out, Clint was already stretching. “Steve, so-” he began, then stopped.

“Yeah?” Steve asked. 

“Uh - well, I thought we could...spar, but I could teach you some...stuff, if you wanted?” Steve nodded, not sure why Clint had suddenly become so inarticulate. 

After two fights, both of which Steve took - he was beginning to understand how Clint fought, and how to respond to him - Clint taught him tumbling. At first, Steve had wanted to smirk at the idea, because, really? Then Clint did an impeccable tumbling pass across the mat they were on, twisting like a gymnast, and Steve could see the myriad applications. 

He expected to get brushed off again, after, and was pleased when Clint suggested getting dinner - he didn’t want to have to explain, exactly, that Clint was the entirety of his contact with the outside world. Well, aside from his neighbor, who had offered him a blunt last night. 

“What are you in the mood for?” Clint asked. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Steve said. “You know any...I could kill for some good mashed potatoes. Maybe meat loaf. You know where to get something like that?”

“You sound doubtful, almost, that I would,” Clint said, and shook his head before entering his shower stall. 

Clint knew of a diner near where Steve lived. “Oh,” Steve said, almost balking when he entered the dining room, which he recognized from his reading and the documentaries he viewed as having a sort of faux-fifties interior, though there were plenty of wartime propaganda posters and forties advertisements mixed in.

“They all do this,” Clint said. “Authenticity, or something. Should encourage you about the food?” 

Steve nodded, but there was something that made him feel a little ill. It took him awhile as he looked at all of the things that were being used for kitsch and as he read the menu items that tried to make decade appropriate puns about the food - this would have been the decade where he lived. Where he lived with Peggy, or maybe even someone else - probably not, though - where he had children and a house and...well, he would have been dispatched to Korea, but that was early in the decade and there would have been all that time after for him to live the Great American Dream. It wasn’t what he had started to fight for, but as the war dragged on and his affections for Peggy grew, it was something that began to motivate him to an increasing degree.

Instead, he was here. This was what he got for shooting all those people and having blood and brain and bone and viscera splattered all over his spangly costume. Some German soldier, holding a gun to Bucky’s head, and the only reason he made it through was because Gabe had gone off to take a piss before they had been ambushed. This was what he got for the burned and broken bodies - the afternoon that they found a decaying torso, the head a few feet away, and no clue what had happened or caused the separation...

“Steve?” Clint asked, and his voice was quiet.

“I...I’ll be right back. I, uh, I’ll have a milkshake, to start.” 

As soon as he got to the bathroom he knew it was a bad idea. Because of his metabolism he rarely vomited anymore, unless it was right after he ate. Instead he retched and heaved and brought up some dark yellow sludge - bile, probably, and then he put his head against the side of the stall and realized he was shaking.

When he exited, Clint was leaning against the bathroom counter. His face seemed blank, and Steve wanted to yell at him, though he wasn’t sure for what. “You want to go back to your apartment?” Clint asked.

“Sure,” Steve said, though this seemed to imply Clint would drop him off there so he could have some time to think through things, or however the therapist at SHIELD had phrased it. He didn’t need that. He had enough of that.

“We can order a pizza,” Clint said.

“That sounds good,” Steve said. Clint reached into his pocket and handed Steve two sticks of gum.

They didn’t speak the entire walk. Steve shoved his hands into his jacket and found he was relieved to be in the company of someone who understood - Clint had been an Army Ranger, a sniper, before this. He had been in Mogadishu before he joined SHIELD. Steve had got the movie on his Netflix, but then had sent it back. He didn’t need Ridley Scott to fill in the details of the Wikipedia article. 

When they got into the hallway, Grant was slumped against the wall in the hallway, staring at his phone with consternation.

“You OK?” Steve asked, grateful for the distraction.

“Aw, hey, man. Guys,” Grant said. “Not really. Locked my keys inside.” He shrugged. “But you know how much Locksmith’s charge?” 

Without saying anything, Clint reached into his jacket and pulled out a small black bag - it almost looked like a makeup bag, though Steve would never say that out loud. He pulled out a small instrument, then another, and started picking the lock. Then he took out his credit card and slid it around until he got the upper jamb loose. It took about thirty seconds.

“Holy shit, man, that is some skill,” Grant said, and stood up and grinned at Clint. “Seriously, take this, you saved me a whole lot of money.” He handed Clint an enormous blunt from his pocket.

Steve had to reflect on the different things the two men had just pulled out, and if it said anything. His own pockets were empty.

“Grant, it’s OK,” Steve said.

Clint grinned. “Thanks,” he said, and shook Grant’s hand. Hard, from the wine of his face. “Steve?”

Once inside, Steve pressed his lips together. “Are you going to smoke that?” Clint shrugged. “Pot doesn’t really work on me...” 

“How do you pot doesn’t work?” Clint asked.

“Well, my metabolism-” 

“Look, I’m no scientist, but you inhale this, not drink it,” Clint said.

“Can we...I mean, not to be a fuddy-duddy, but doesn’t SHIELD drug test?” Steve asked.

Clint laughed, and it was this big, genuine sounding thing that Steve hadn’t really heard yet. “One, the least of my problems would be a positive drug test, lately, two, I really want to see their reactions to Captain fucking America going all _Reefer Madness_ and three, metabolism, at least for you?”

“I saw that movie!” Steve said, and almost blushed at how excited he sounded.

“Good,” Clint said, and he pat Steve on the small of his back. “Then you know what to expect.” He pulled a lighter out of his pocket and lit the blunt.

Clint sucked it down, and clearly knew what he was doing. Steve actually coughed as he inhaled, not exactly sure of the mechanism. He had never touched cigarettes when he was younger, given the state of his lungs.

“Aw,” Clint said, and Steve felt like there was real affection there. “Pull it deep into your lungs. Suck in, like you’re about to go underwater.”

“OK,” Steve said, and it took a few other tries before he really sucked the smoke in. After figuring it out, he took a very long drag before passing back to Clint. They made quick work of it, leaning against Steve’s counter. “Now what?” Steve asked.

“We order a pizza,” Clint said. “And find some stupid movie to watch.” 

“I don’t really feel anything,” Steve said. Clint rolled his eyes.

It wasn’t until they were on the couch, looking through his Netflix catalogue, that Steve felt a sense of...not peace, exactly, but contentedness. Clint was grinning at him, and when Steve matched his gaze, Clint actually giggled. Then Clint raised a hand and clapped it over his mouth and smiled, though it was kind of an apologetic grimace. “Oh, man,” Steve said, and Clint nodded. “Maybe this is Bruce’s secret,” Steve added.

“Huh?”

“On the, uh, Helicarrier,” Steve said, and looked away for a moment before Clint put a hand on his arm and then removed it. “Stark asked Bruce what his secret was - something about yoga, and then a giant bag of weed.” 

“It might be,” Clint said. “It might be.” Steve grinned, then, for no apparent reason other than the fact that the two of them were sitting on his couch and debating about movies to watch. “It worked,” Clint said. “We’re watching _Monty Python._ ” 

Later, Steve would lie in bed and not really remember much of the next hour and a half, other than he had felt a general sense of calm despite having a PTSD event triggered by a kitschy diner. Only one thing really stood out, which was when Steve had been laughing at something on the movie, and then turned and said the joke again to Clint.

“Sometimes, I...” Clint said, and he was chagrinned, Steve supposed, “I want to pat you on the head. But it seems...infantilizing.”

“It’s OK,” Steve said, and Clint reached over and pat him gingerly, sort of like Bucky would when he felt Steve had said something kind of silly or dumb.

“You have nice hair,” Clint said.

“Thanks,” Steve said, and touched it himself. It didn’t seem to be particularly anything to him, though Clint kept smiling at him.


	5. Chapter 5

“I just want to make sure...” Natasha said, stirring her noodles. “You smoked pot with Steve Rogers?” 

“Indeed,” Clint said. “His neighbor gave us a blunt after I picked his lock.” Natasha raised her eyebrows. “He didn’t want to pay for a locksmith. You never support fun, Natasha.” 

“I support fun,” she replied, and bit at her lower lip slightly - Clint felt bad, he knew this was still something she worked on. “Just...I worry, you know, that you...”

Clint shrugged. “I’m radioactive waste to everyone else but you,” he said. “My social capital is-” 

“Steve doesn’t seem to be reaching out to anyone else,” Natasha said.

“Are you saying I might fuck up Captain America even more?” Clint asked.

Natasha arched an eyebrow. “How is he fucked up?” 

_Really?_ Clint thought, but he remembered how she had been when he found her, what she had to deal with - this was another legitimate case of needing certain things drawn to the surface. “Well, the whole waking up in the future and finding out everyone you know and love is dead,” Clint said. “And he fought in a war. Up close in a war. Watched his best friend fall and die in some snowy abyss.” 

Natasha nodded as she slurped some noodles. “I watched the film strips,” she said. “When we found him. It was strange to see him right in front of me, like he wasn’t exactly real.” Clint took a moment, and sipped at his beer, before nodding. She was right - of course she was, and with all her lack of social skills, she was remarkable at describing others. It had made Coulson worry, when they had first started to work with her, that she was a psychopath. _You act like this is unexpected,_ Fury said, and shook his head. Now, though, she had come out of the rigid shell that she had built around herself. Or she poked out of it, turtle-like, every now and again, at least. 

“You know,” she said, after a moment of silence, “I’m not just worried about-”

“Oh, god, Nat, I talk about this enough with-” 

Natasha held her hand up and narrowed her eyes. “It’s different between friends, isn’t it?” _Well played,_ Clint thought, and he sighed. “If you want to talk about things.” 

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“You don’t have to say some things. Like how much you like Steve.” She leaned in, like she was trying to be conspiratorial instead of frightening.

“I don’t-” Clint began. 

“I saw you staring at him in the gym.” Natasha said, and slurped her last noodle for emphasis.

“Who wouldn’t? Why weren’t you staring at him in the gym, in that outfit?” Clint asked.

“That was what started my analysis,” Natasha said, a slight smirk on her face. 

“It doesn’t matter, anyway,” Clint said. Natasha arched her eyebrow, again, and Clint really did not want to get into this with her. He almost never talked about romantic feelings with her, that was what...he stopped, then, and looked down, and he really didn’t want to think about that, either, and he was also a little pissed because he knew Natasha had expertly led him to this part and he didn’t appreciate it.

“Not that I am a very good substitute,” Natasha said, and her voice was soft, and Clint was pretty sure this was genuine. Especially when she punctuated it with two words she rarely spoke with any infliction, “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s...it’s OK.” Clint said. His therapist suggested he might feel better if he stopped conceptually monopolizing his Coulson grief and recognized there were plenty of other people who shared it with him. This was when Clint decided to ignore any other advice she might try to give him - because the vast majority of those other people? They had a mental framework for their Coulson grief, and Clint had a very specific role to play. 

“So you like him,” Natasha said.

“Yeah,” Clint said, and he began to feel a little warm from verbalizing it and really hoped he wasn’t blushing. “I mean, he’s...” he waved his hand, “and he’s...nice.”

“Of course he is,” said Natasha. “That was one of the prerequisites for Project Rebirth.” He couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic. He really should read all of the documentation they had - except now it felt...weird. “You could tell him.” 

“Ha,” Clint said. The statement hung between them for a long moment and Clint finished his beer. “Really, Tash?”

“Just because he’s from the 1940s doesn’t mean he’s not...men had sex with men back then. There was a war going on, after all.” Clint had to sigh, again, at that.

* *

Later, upon reflection, what irritated him was that nothing would have happened were it not for Tony Stark. Stark Ex Machina. 

Clint had come back to Steve’s apartment after another workout to help him set up Steve’s Mac - he’d been struggling with his PC, and Clint figured this might be the easiest solution. While he’d been installing some software, Steve had ordered Mexican, and when the knock came on the door, they’d been eating and drinking beer. 

“Hey, I know, I know, totally dropping in unexpected, but I wanted to let you know, I got the Tower rebuilt and decided to put in somewhere for you to stay, you know, instead of hipster Central-” all of this was said without, Clint presumed, Tony really looking and seeing the scene in front of him. “Whoa. Wait. Hello. You have a room too.”

“Oh, well,” Clint said. “That’s...nice.” 

“Are you two dating or something?” Stark asked.

“Uh.” Clint said, and he looked at Steve, who looked down. 

“Um.” Steve said.

Recognizing the situation, Stark made some phone motions around his ear as he slowly backed away. Then he closed the door. 

“Uh,” Clint said again. Steve fell backwards into the couch in a motion that was a good deal less graceful than normal. He face stretched into a mortified grimace, and he was definitely blushing a little bit.

“Oh, God,” he said, and put his head in his hands. 

Clint knew where this was headed. He’d been _here_ before, could sense it once again on the back of his neck. Some of it before SHIELD, in the Army, trying to negotiate what it meant to have a relationship when you also wanted to belong to an organization that didn’t want you in that relationship. Trying to figure out how you expressed these things when it couldn’t be open, that sickening sense that you’d read everything so wrong. And even with SHIELD, without that later fear, he’d still thought it was important to be private - only Coulson and Natasha had known about his last relationship, and that was really only because someone was going to need to call him if something happened to Clint. 

“Steve?” Clint said, setting his beer down before he broke the bottle with his grip. He tried to sound as casual as possible. “Hey?” 

Steve looked up, and he appeared stricken. Clint was a little amazed, because even if he’d seen Steve at a really vulnerable place, he still always thought of him in command mode. It looked, for a moment, like Steve was going to say something. Then he just shook his head.

Clint knew where his strengths and weaknesses were. Sure, he was good with a quip - though meeting Tony Stark showed him where he was, within the whole population - but generally he was not the best with words. 

So instead he leaned down and put his hands over Steve’s, where they rested on his knees. Before Steve could push him away he leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips - and, as he did so, hoped he had been correct and Steve just wasn’t having some visceral reaction to Tony Stark. 

He pulled away, but only enough he was able to take Steve’s eyes in - and they were searching, darting back and forth, still worried, definitely confused, and a little hopeful. Clint exhaled. 

“Clint?” Steve asked. 

“Wasn’t just for shits and giggles,” Clint said, which was stupid, but he also didn’t have any better ideas. 

Steve nodded, slow, and appeared to be taking it in. Then he pressed his lips together and smiled, still a little tight, and returned the kiss. He was more searching than Clint had been, but then, he didn’t have any reason for caution. He was good, too, he seemed to know just the right amount of pressure. 

“Is it OK if I..?” Clint asked, and waved his hand to the spot next to Steve on the couch, since crouching in a position to reach Steve like this was beginning to tug at his lower back - yes, he was old.

“Um. Yes?” Steve said, and in contrast, he was so young looking. It took Clint a moment to realize why, because he’d read the file, and there were Dr. Erksine’s notes - _subject states he has not engaged in sexual activity_ \- and the timeline that followed, and while there was ample opportunity to get to know the chorus girls, Clint knew just from spending one hour with Steve there was no way he would do that. 

Steve turned towards him, eyes slightly raised, and Clint did his best to hold his gaze. “Oh,” he said, after a long pause. “Did you want me to-”

“You started it,” Steve said, a little weak. It took Clint a moment to realize he was referencing the obvious retort - Stark started it - and not what the it was. 

“Well, it just. I’m not good at talking.” Clint looked down. “Which is. Obviously.” 

“Oh,” Steve said, again. “I guess I just want to know...what you mean.”

Clint blinked once, then twice, and then realized that as with most things, Steve was being completely earnest. “Well, I generally don’t do that...like I said. To make someone feel better. I...” He drew it out, hoping he wasn’t going to have to say it. They hadn’t even used tongue yet.

Steve smiled at this, though, and Clint was able to exhale. “I’m not good at this.”

“Reading people?” 

Steve motioned between the two of them, and shrugged. “No one’s ever...well, no, I guess I really just never had the chance, once. Or, it was just...you know, war, and everything.” 

Clint nodded, wondering how the man next to him could present as an accomplished, stone jawed leader in some circumstances and a strangely-in-need-of-a-hug youth in others. Part of the charm, he supposed. “Well, I don’t-”

“And now,” Steve said, as though he had suddenly realized what he needed to say, “I don’t even know how people do... _this_ , aside from television, but I’ve learned that’s not wholly accurate.” 

“Well, it’s...not necessary, to know,” Clint said. “I don’t have...there’s no consistent expectations, I guess.” 

Steve leaned in closer and nodded, and then ducked his head down, slightly, as though embarrassed. Clint reached over and put a hand under his chin and guided his head up so their eyes were close enough aligned. Steve moved, from there, and this time his mouth was delicate - as though whatever between them was fragile. Clint was the one to part his lips, to press against Steve’s and tease his mouth open. Clint only hinted a tongue before departing, then pulled away. 

“You don’t mind your burrito cold?” Steve asked.

“No,” Clint said, and was glad, for now, that part was over. He didn’t know how long they would be able to dodge those issues - though they were simple enough to deal with, one way or another. I’m a virgin and want you to madly screw me, or I’m a virgin and am petrified of sex. Either, Clint didn’t care. There were tenable action plans for both. “Might need another beer, though.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, and nodded. “Yeah.”


	6. Chapter 6

“I need,” he said to Natasha as they did their five minute down time during interval training on the elliptical, “a nice restaurant - but not super nice.” 

“Wait, what?” Natasha asked, and looked over at him. “This is a...progression.”

“Did Stark tell you about how he made us bedrooms?” Clint asked, not sure if he wanted to relate how the whole thing had happened. It seemed precious, a little too much like something in a romantic comedy - and that was not his life.

“Mmmhmm. He stopped by SHIELD to talk to Fury and found me in the hallway - but what does that...?” Natasha narrowed her eyes at Clint. She hated when he withheld information.

“Well, he thought he might tell Steve-”

“And made some comment about you fucking?” Natasha grinned, a wicked grin that made Clint happy, because she seemed like any other young woman discussing relationship drama with their....well, he supposed, in this scenario, he was the gay BFF.

“Asked if we were dating?”

“I’m surprised,” she said, arching her eyebrow. “So restrained. And useful.” 

“I think, if we’re criticizing Tony Stark, one word that might not come up is useful-” Clint began.

“Socially useful,” Natasha said. “Not that any of us are.” Clint nodded - it was true, and in his head, he began to think of ranking the six members of the Avengers Initiative from most emotionally constipated to least. 

There was a simultaneous beep from their watches, and they began the intense three minute climb on the machine. Clint swung his arms and relished the sweat that quickly began to run down his face - he needed this, strange as it was, some normal exercise session that some dude in some gym might conceivably be doing. Which was the second time he’d characterized something by this sort of scenario, but he supposed it was normal, because how many people pretended they were super heroes? 

Once they caught their breadth, Natasha turned towards him. “So?”

“So?” Clint asked. The exertion had been sufficient that he didn’t have time to think, rather, he had paid attention to the pop music Natasha had chosen - Lady Gaga, he was pretty sure. 

“What are you going to do?” she asked. 

“Ask you for a recommendation for a nice restaurant,” Clint replied, and felt a little foolish because his voice sort of cracked as he said it - and this was the second time, but it somehow felt more definite.

Natasha noticed, but said nothing. “Where?” she asked, and Clint smiled. “And when?”

* * 

Clint wasn’t surprised to get a knock on his apartment door two hours before he was due to meet Steve at the restaurant - he didn’t want there to be any pressure, and as Natasha said, he didn’t want to further fuck up Captain America. Fury would be pissed, in the least. Coulson would roll in his grave.

“I thought as much,” Natasha said, looking him up and down, and she stepped into the SHIELD apartment with a bottle of wine in hand. Clint was relieved she didn’t have flowers. She also brought her own bottle opener - this is what you get, Clint thought, when you kill people together for this long, you _know_ \- and poured herself a glass of the wine in one of his clean coffee mugs, then handed the bottle to Clint. 

“Really?” Clint asked.

“You can’t drink beer on a first date,” she replied. 

Clint pressed his lips together - because how long had it been since he had been on a date? He’d been with Rick for almost two years, and before that... “OK,” he said. “You want to just pick my outfit out now?” 

Natasha rolled her eyes. “For someone so good with makeup-”

“For circus performers! And disguising people’s appearance!” Clint protested, because he knew he should, and after everything that had happened in the past year, they both needed this. Clint certainly would not have predicted his life would become more normal only after he fought off an alien invasion - no, he corrected himself, alien invasions.

“What happened to that stuff you got when you had to be the securities lawyer?” Natasha asked.

Clint flopped on the bed. “Oh, fuck, Nat, no-”

“The mint green,” she said, holding the shirt at him, “really brings out your eyes.” 

“As long as you don’t suggest one of the critter ties,” he said. “Or the pants with the little whales embroidered on them.” Natasha didn’t respond, and instead opened his drawer and took out a pair of dark jeans. 

“And your cleanest sneakers,” she said. 

“Ha,” Clint replied. He still didn’t see the point to clothes - most of his own were t-shirts and hoodies he’d hung onto for years, the rest were things he had kept from missions because he knew he’d have to use them again. He’d been a banker/lawyer/philanthropist/rich sailor six times, now. 

“Drink the wine, Barton,” Natasha said, and gave him a slight smile. Clint nodded. 

* *

“I’ve never had French food,” Steve said, hands in his pockets. He was already outside when Clint got out of the taxi. “Well...in a restaurant. In New York.” 

Clint smiled - but there was something sad about Steve, and Clint wondered how long he had waited. Being Captain America, he had probably arrived a perfunctory 10-15 minutes early, and then had spent that time standing outside and thinking about dates that should have been, with people other than Clint. _Game point, Natasha,_ Clint thought, glad for the half bottle of wine he’d drank before coming over. 

“You look great,” Clint said, and he did - of course he did, he looked great in everything, but tonight... he got new pants, Clint realized, with a lower waist line that showed off where sharp hipbones should be, a new button down shirt that clung to his shoulders... Clint resisted a sigh.

“You too,” Steve said, and sort of quirked a smile and then raised his eyebrows. 

The waitress who seated them couldn’t take her eyes off of Steve, and gave Clint a meaningful glance when she put them in the alcove that Natasha had told him to request. There were several candles, without holders, melting right onto the table, and Clint knew he was going to owe Natasha. The place was nice, but not pretentious, and it was quiet.

“So,” Steve said, with a bit of a cough. “Stark actually built us bedrooms.” 

“Huh,” Clint said, and the only image that came to his mind was some kind of Avengers slumber party, all of them in bright pajamas watching movies, eating snacks, ribbing one another and laughing. He shook his head. “Well, that’s...nice. Though given how many people tend to target Tony Stark’s residences for his attack...” Clint cut himself off, and thought, _stupid._

“I’m just glad he and Miss Potts are alright,” Steve said. “And his other friend...uh...”

“Rhodes,” Clint said, automatically. “Air Force Colonel.” 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “The air force is a whole separate thing, now.”

The waitress returned after that, and Clint was relieved to be able to say, “You want anything to drink?” 

“Sparkling water, ma’am,” Steve said. “With lemon.”

“Of course,” she replied, and Clint might be paranoid, but it seemed she was now giving him a pitying look.

“I’ll have a glass of Malbec,” he said. She nodded at him. Clint didn’t press Steve about the wine. 

“I would have helped him,” Steve said.

“They had their eye on things,” Clint said, and Steve arched an eyebrow until he realized, from reading Clint’s face, that Clint held an opinion of SHIELD that was fairly close to Steve’s, now - though Clint’s was a hell of a lot more bitter and personal and related to way people looked at him, looked right through him, refused to acknowledge him in the few meetings he’d been asked to in the past week. “We probably shouldn’t-”

And why was it, Clint wondered, that everything before had been so natural?

“I told you I was bad at this,” Steve said, with a sigh.

Clint actually smiled. “Well, I clearly am, as well,” he said. “So...” Steve laughed, and the waitress gave them their drinks and took their order. Clint was surprised when Steve got the duck - part of his calculation, in choosing the restaurant, was its wide array of different types of steaks.

“After the Mexican, I decided I should try new things,” Steve said. “It wasn’t until I went off to the War, you know, that all of the sudden there was all this different stuff...” Clint almost interjected, but then realized Steve was recalling this with some fondness. “Dernier, of course - and we never let Farnsworth cook, English food is everything they say - but Gabe and Jim...sometimes, we’d come into these villages and they’d be so happy...” 

“It’s strange, how that can go,” Clint said, and for a moment he thought it might be safe to remember things, but then he shook his head.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said.

“No, it’s...I’m just fucked up, that’s all,” Clint said, not really meaning to - but informed consent was important, in these contexts, and just in case Steve hadn’t got it from the rest of their interactions.

Steve glanced away from a moment, then tugged at his lower lip. “Well,” he said, then, “Yeah.” 

It seemed that that was what they needed, and suddenly conversation went over to baseball - Steve attempting to convince Clint why it was superior to the football games he had seen and why it should be more popular - transitioning to discussing their experiences with military teams - and, strange, given that they both had significant experiences, it hadn’t come up yet - and ending with a television show that Clint had told Steve to watch.

“But I spent all day with it,” Steve said, as the waitress came to take the remnants of their dessert. "That's not the best use of time..."

“Not uncommon,” Clint said - what he wanted to say, instead, was, well, what did people do back in the day? He was legitimately interested, but given how things had started, he knew better. 

He walked Clint out to the front, and the two of them stood and looked at one another for a moment before Clint leaned up and canted his head, hoping Steve would lean down into the kiss. They had, at least, done that before - and their lips met easily. Steve put a hand at the back Clint’s neck and ran his fingers through his hair, and Clint felt the rest of the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge. 

Clint wasn’t sure how long they were able to hold it, but it seemed a considerable time - and he didn’t care that he was in a public place, he was more than willing to keep on going. It was a little worth it to pull away to see Steve grin down at him, though, and the cute way that he immediately put his hands in his pockets as though he had done something naughty. 

“Do you need to get a cab?” Clint asked.

“Naw,” Steve said, and rocked back on his feet - and Clint had to wonder if he knew exactly what he was doing. “I rode my bike.” He nodded his head over towards the motorcycle, and Clint nodded. “So, I guess...should I, um, I thought, there was a movie-”

“Absolutely,” Clint said. “Just let me know.” 

Steve nodded, leaned in and kissed him lightly, and then turned and walked over towards his bike. Clint knew that he probably should have gone in the opposite direction to hail a cab, but instead he waited and watched as Steve drove off on the bike - figuring Steve was pragmatic enough that he would have parked the bike in the direction he was headed off into. He was glad he was right - otherwise, it would have been legitimately embarrassing.


	7. Chapter 7

Steve wasn’t sure why he thought it was a good idea to go over to Stark Tower - still not completely renovated, a single A all that was left of the name - but Stark had made an overture, and after everything that had happened between them...and then what had happened to Stark, it seemed like it was the right thing to do. 

“Hello?” said the receptionist, and Steve couldn’t help notice that there were not only uniformed security guards but those in plain clothes that were trying to look inconspicuous. “What can I do for you?”

“I’d like to see Mr. Stark,” Steve said. After all, Stark had shook his hand and told him to stop by any time. But then Steve had thought, after everything in California and in China, that Tony might want some privacy, now, or in the least, certainly didn’t want Steve around - but then he had come and said he built him a bedroom, so. 

“Really?” the receptionist asked, with a wide grin. “I mean, you’ll have to call scheduling, and-”

“Can you just let someone know that, uh, Steve Rogers is here, if he’s available?” Steve asked, really not wanting to say _Captain America,_ but it turned out it didn’t matter. He’d been all over the newspapers. Unlike in WWII, everyone knew who he was beyond the title.

“Oh, well - I’m so sorry, Captain, I mean, you have to understand, we don’t just let anyone come in-”

“No, of course not,” Steve said. Especially after Malibu. Especially since Stark was living here full time. 

“Take a seat,” she said, and Steve did. The security officers couldn’t help but look at him, now, and Steve wished that all those pictures hadn’t been taken of him with the cowl off. It only took two minutes before a guard came over and escorted him through two separate elevators and then to a large, well lit office.

“Captain,” said Pepper Potts, getting up from her desk. “I’m not sure if you remember-”

“Of course, ma’am,” he said. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Ms. Potts.” He shook her hand and was surprised with her firm grip - though he shouldn’t have been, when he had met her she was coordinating a variety of relief efforts at the Tower while managing Stark as well. 

“Pepper, please. And you too,” she said. “So...Tony did stop by the other night?” 

“Yes,” Steve said. “It was unexpected, and I didn’t get a chance to...” 

Pepper glanced away, slightly, and Steve pressed his lips together before smiling at her. “He’ll be down in a moment - he’s in the lab with Dr. Banner-” she said.

“Dr. Banner is here?” Steve asked. And, if he was supposed to be in charge of the Avengers - or, at least, no one had contradicted the leadership he had established - shouldn’t he know these things?

“Oh, he came back to the city two, three days ago,” Pepper said. “I think he sort of slipped in, actually...”

“Captain Rogers!” Stark said, voice booming. He was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt smeared with grease that didn’t even attempt to hide the glow coming from his chest. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Let’s get a drink, or something, Ms. Potts is a very busy woman-” he went over to her and kissed her cheek and palmed her butt, and Steve did his best to look away. “Or are you a hungry?”

“Something to drink would be fine,” Steve said. 

Tony had a perfunctory office next door, and while the bar was well stocked it had clearly been rarely used. “Let me guess...Coke, right?” 

“Yes, thank you,” Steve said. 

“Take a seat, Captain, unless you plan on just giving orders and-”

“Steve, please,” Steve said, and he accepted the glass Stark had prepared - with ice, and lemon - and then sat down on the couch. “It’s just, the other night-”

“Oh, _riight_ ,” Tony said, and there was a grin on his face as he sat across from Steve, clearly unconcerned with dirtying his chair. “Well, I thought, with everyone coming from different places, far and farther, to come together, if we have to, again - and how you all just camped out here until we packed off Pikachu...”

“It’s very thoughtful of you,” Steve said, not wanting to indulge the cultural reference. Stark took a sip of whatever he had - seltzer, lime, maybe some alcohol, Steve hadn’t paid attention. Though drinking and engineering didn’t seem like it would go well together. 

“Sure,” Stark said, finally, and shrugged. “And just what were you and Katniss up to, anyway?”

“Katniss?” Steve asked, and sighed.

“Hunger Games? Good with a bow and arrow - how long have you been defrosted, Cap-Steve, and no one has introduced you to this stuff? You’d think they could scrounge up some SHIELD agent...” 

“I’ve been watching some movies. And TV - and Wikipedia,” Steve said, not sure why he was sharing - defending himself. “I Wikipedia almost everything.”

“Good start,” Stark said. “So...” Steve just smiled at him, and took a sip of his soda. “So...you want to see the room? It’s pretty bare bones, but I thought, you would want to add some personal touches...”

“Sure,” Steve said, and they were largely silent as they went to another elevator and up a few more floors. Entry here required Stark’s finger prints and eyeball and made Steve shudder a little to remember the footage of what Loki had done in Germany. 

“We can get you programmed in today, too,” Stark said. “Three down, three to go, then...and you could bring-”

“Ms. Potts mentioned Dr. Banner was in town,” Steve said, looking at the main space. A living area opened up to wide windows that had a stunning view of the city, and there was a massive television, open kitchen, and large dining table. He felt...it was hard for him to conceive of Stark planning something like this, some community. 

“Popped up a few days ago, hadn’t showered in weeks, was somewhere in Central America...” Stark shook his head and led Steve over to a door. “All the personal quarters open up into here,” he said. The bedroom was huge, as big as Steve’s apartment, and had its’ own living area as well as a massive bed and private bathroom. Stark gestured and led him into the bathroom. 

“This shower is-” Steve said, peering into it, and trying to figure out what all of the jets were for. 

“You could have an orgy in it,” Stark said. “Come on, let me show you the cool part.” His energy was a little infectious, and Steve couldn’t help but grin when he saw the elaborate training space the was behind the living space. It included an archery range. “You should bring Barton by, I want to make sure it’s up to what he’s used to - well, I stole it from SHIELD, so, rather, I want it to be better-”

“I’ll let him know to stop over,” Steve said.

Stark leaned against the gym wall, and the smirk on his face was replaced with a slight smile. “So, what, you two training buddies, or-”

“I’m not sure, actually,” Steve said, and then wanted to shove the words back into his mouth. _Just like his father,_ he thought. 

“Oh,” Stark said. “I hope I didn’t...I did, didn’t I? Huh.” He was legitimately pleased with himself. “Maybe I should knock down the wall between-”

“It’s not,” Steve said, and sighed. Stark cocked his head, and there was a still fresh scar along the one side of his face that interfered with the line of his facial hair, and Steve remembered everything he had been through in the past few weeks. “I really don’t know. It just started out...training, and we-”

“Hey,” said a voice, and Steve and Stark both turned to see Dr. Banner in the doorway, hands clasped in front of him and shoulders slumped. “Am I - you said to come up, when I was done with the...”

“Yes, I did!” Stark said, and grinned, and it was clear that the bond that they had instantly formed on the Helicarrier had only deepened. “We’re talking about Steve’s love life.”

“Oh,” Dr. Banner said, and pulled his glasses off to wipe on his shirt. Steve had to wonder how many pairs of those he went through. “I see.” 

“Seems Steve’s been courting-” Stark began, but Steve had begun to see fuzz around the edges of his vision and he was almost overcome with a simple, childish thought - _I want my friends, I want my life back._ He’d been prepared to die, in those moments, even as he had spoken to Peggy. He’d certainly been prepared to die when he landed in the ice and the cold and the water had flooded into the plane and the Arctic air had rushed in and he had thought, _freezing to death isn’t supposed to be that bad, you just go to sleep..._

He felt a hand on the small of his back and it brought him out of it, and he was surprised to see that it was Dr. Banner. “Steve...come over here, sit down,” he said, while Stark looked on, a little perplexed and almost concerned. He crouched down in front of him and gave him a soft smile. “OK?” 

“I-”

“I know,” Dr. Banner said. “Tony, you want to get some water?”

“OK,” Stark said, narrowing his eyes slightly and heading for the kitchen.

Dr. Banner didn’t say anything, just kept a hand on Steve’s upper thigh. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “But I know.”

Steve nodded, and took a deep breath, and pretty much thanks to Dr. Banner he didn’t feel embarrassed - and what did it say that out of their group, the best adjusted was an alien with a magic hammer and a genocidal younger brother? “It just...”

Dr. Banner nodded, and stood up as Stark returned. “Take a long drink,” he said. 

“Are you staying...here, Dr. Banner?” Steve asked, voice soft, and he waved his hand around to indicate the suite that Stark had made for the rest of them. 

“Well, uh, Bruce,” he replied. “And-”

“Bruce’s penthouse is currently being repainted, he’s really interested in this season’s pale blue and he wanted some new granite countertops,” Stark said, and it relieved Steve, and he smiled. 

“OK,” he said. 

“It doesn’t have to be temporary,” Stark added. “I mean, I know you’ve got that lovely apartment - and the kid next door seems to have some great Mary Jane, and Bruce, you should stop by, when your giant bag of weed runs out...” Bruce rolled his eyes at this. “I can get someone to bring your stuff over.”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Would be easier than, uh, going back and forth to SHIELD to train every day, at least.” Stark - Tony, he amended, if they were going to be living together, which he hadn’t decided on - well, he supposed he had, because it sure would be nice to have other people around. He’d never lived on his own, and it provided far too much time for him to sit and think and... “Sure,” he said, weakly, because even if he acquiesced he wasn’t entirely sure if it was a good idea. 

“Great,” Tony said, and clapped his hands. Bruce had stood up by then, and Tony draped his arms around him. “What did I tell you, Bruce, we’ll have our very own frat house before you know it - I bet we can even get Thor in a toga, though we might have to put Romanov on double secret probation, she’s a sneaky one...”

Steve smiled, even though he had no idea what Tony was saying to Bruce.

 _This will be OK,_ he told himself. _It will._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> toga/double secret probation - _Animal House_ , and if you haven't watched it...well.


	8. Chapter 8

“You moved into Stark Tower?” Clint asked, while they stood in line to get concessions for the movie.

“Well, not yet,” Steve said. “Monday.” 

Clint looked - Steve wasn’t sure how Clint looked. Disappointed? Appalled? Dejected? 

“I...I don’t like being alone.” Steve said this softly. He really shouldn’t have brought it up in the middle of this kind of public space, but it seemed to be the sort of thing you should let your...whatever Clint was...know about pretty soon after you made the decision. It seemed to be the sort of thing someone might get angry at you about if you held back, as far as Steve had gleaned from Bucky’s tales of relationship woes - _it seemed to be,_ the back of his brain added, _the kind of thing that might lead someone to shoot your shield._ Steve shook his head.

“Well,” Clint said, and his hands were in the pockets of a pair of dark grey jeans that looked like they had been specifically purchased for occasion - relieving Steve, since he had gone out shopping as well, for both dates. “I get that.”

“Stark put in an archery range,” Steve added. “He said he copied it from SHIELD but made some improvements.”

Clint arched an eyebrow at this. Steve had never gone down to see him at the range, nor had he been invited in the few occasions when, after they sparred, Clint went down for practice. He’d overheard some comments at SHIELD, though about how _insane_ watching Clint was when he really let loose. “Really?” 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “There’s a whole workout facility, um, whirlpool tub in the lockers, and the apartment is the size of mine - hello, ma’am, popcorn, sour patch kids and two Coke,s” he said, and the girl behind the counter gave him a strange look. Did adults not get candy at movies? 

“She is much too young to be a ma’am,” Clint said, leaning in behind Steve - and when had he got behind him? It didn’t matter, Steve relished the contact with him. “She’s going to go home and bitch to her friends about it.” 

“Well, then, what should I say - from what I understand, miss is a pejorative?”

Clint furrowed his brow at this. “Maybe just hello? Until she becomes a ma’am?” Steve shook his head - _this is why,_ he thought, _manners are important. They standardize things._ Like how to pay for these dates, for example - Clint had paid for the meal, despite Steve’s protests, and since he had suggested the movie he had paid, but Clint still protested as Steve handed his money over to the cashier. 

Clint gathered the popcorn and candy, so Steve took the drinks, and he wished he had a hand free so that he could put it on Clint. Then, by the time they sat down, he was unsure what to do - he’d heard about Bucky’s dates at movies, of course, and occasionally Steve had gone with him. But the girl he was with would usually only let him get so far as brushing hands in the popcorn And when Clint slouched in his seat, Steve couldn’t help but wonder if he was disappointed in him, over moving into the tower - Clint and Tony had barely interacted, though to be fair, Clint had barely interacted with anyone except Natasha immediately following the battle.

Steve hoped Clint would make a move, but ten minutes into the movie the two of them were still sitting side by side. Steve sighed, a little, and then put a hand on Clint’s shoulder. He turned towards Steve, and Steve nodded, and then Clint quirked a slight smile before settling down against Steve’s shoulder. Steve wrapped an arm around him, happier for the contact. 

They stayed in this position, adjusting occasionally as needed, throughout the movie. Steve leaned over and kissed Clint at the end, and then again when they stepped outside. Clint put a hand on his hip. Steve felt nervous, for the first time - well, not really in a long time, since it had only been a few days since Tony had popped into his apartment. Still.

“Your bike?” Clint asked, keeping his hand on Steve’s hip.

“Oh, I took the subway...” Steve said. “Washington Square is so close...” He closed his eyes for a moment. “I thought you might...come back with me?” 

“Steve-”

“I don’t mean to...I mean, not that I don’t want to, but I want to be with you-” Before he could blather any further, Clint cut him off with a sharp, needy kiss, pressing his tongue deep into Steve’s mouth. 

“Taxi is quicker,” Clint said, pulling away, and Steve nodded. He was relieved when his moving decision didn’t come up during their ride, instead, they discussed the movie. Halfway through, Clint reached over and took Steve’s hand.

By the time they got to Steve’s hallway they were kissing, both of them with their hands all over one another. Steve broke away to open the door and pushed Clint inside and against the small wall that separated the entry from the rest of the apartment. “Fuck, Steve,” Clint said, pulling away for a moment.

“Is it-”

“No, good,” Clint replied, and Steve nodded and hitched his hips into Clint, pinning him a little further. Clint moaned. Steve hadn’t really wanted to turn to the internet for information, but it seemed prudent. It was research. He just didn’t want to disappoint. 

Steve slid down and felt Clint’s hard cock against his thigh. “Steve, if you keep-” It was a hot image, Steve had to admit, Clint coming in his pants right there. Instead he kissed him lightly and took a step back.

“OK,” he said. “Bedroom?” Clint nodded, and his lips were plumped from kissing and his hair was more disheveled than Steve would have thought it could get. “You look...” 

Clint stopped him at the bedroom door with a kiss, and this time he was the one to push - well, nudge, but Steve readily complied with it - Steve onto the bed. Clint remained standing and straddled him, almost climbing into his lap. He took a hand to the shirt Steve was wearing and unbuttoned it quickly, then put the hand on Steve’s chest. “God, Steve.” 

“Clint, I-” Steve didn’t know why, but he was suddenly overcome with the fact that this was furthest he had ever gone with anyone. Clint was whisking his own t-shirt off and then he caught Steve’s look.

“Steve...” Clint said, something really tender in his voice. “I know, Steve, I’m sorry.” Steve looked down, embarrassed, he shouldn’t have brought it up, put Clint in this position...

“I’m not - not for you,” Steve said, quickly, and Clint smiled and then stepped back. He shrugged his jeans off, and Steve stared at Clint’s cock in his boxer briefs, and then he reached and pressed his palm against it. Clint moaned, and Steve grasped it in the cloth and moved his hand up and down, his smile growing as Clint bucked into it. 

Then Clint grasped his wrist and moved himself back so he could get onto the bed. He put his hands on Steve’s hips and tugged at his pants, and then inhaled sharply when Steve was revealed. Steve had gone shopping for these, too, it had only just occurred to him that he probably shouldn’t keep on wearing his old underwear and the plain boxers someone at SHIELD had seen fit to purchase him. A salesclerk had tried to engage him at the store, but Steve just bought the black briefs as quickly as possible. 

“Is it-”

“Fuck, Steve,” Clint said, and drew a finger up his length. Steve shuddered, and suddenly got what Clint was on about. He felt himself blush - something he had actively wanted to avoid.

“I...yeah, I mean, that changed...” Clint silenced him with a kiss, which was relieving, and then ran his hand down Steve’s back and rested it right above his underwear band. 

“I want you to tell me if-” Clint began, his voice suddenly serious - and honestly, Steve thought, they should have negotiated this before. Steve nodded, though, and then Clint slid Steve’s briefs off. He made another sharp inhale, and then removed his own. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Steve said, hoping it was the right word. Clint was chiseled, his shoulders and arms perfectly disproportionate to his narrow waist and hips. 

“Hardly,” Clint said.

“I wasn’t made this way,” Steve whispered, then gave a wry smile. He shuffled forward on his knees to meet Clint in another kiss, drawing it out and letting it last for a long time. Then Clint pulled back and sucked his lower lip, and Steve felt his cock twitch.

Clint was the one to guide him down, and then he straddled Steve, legs spread wide, revealing taut thigh muscles and the definition at his hips. “Do you have...?”

“First drawer,” Steve said, and he couldn’t help but reach forward and grasp Clint’s hips and let his hands follow the delineation of muscle until he had both of them on the insides of Clint’s thigh. He leaned up, slightly, and Clint put a hand on his chest. Then he pulled it away and squirted some of the lube in it. 

Steve moaned as Clint adjusted himself and aligned their cocks. His fingers teased over Steve’s, one going up the shaft, then circling his head, then a thumb across his slit. “Clint, please, I-”

“I know,” Clint murmured, and he leaned down so he could kiss Steve. The friction increased, and Steve bucked his hips into Clint, his cock against Clint’s, and he moaned. “God, I know,” Clint said, and his slick hand grasped both of them together. Steve bucked again, then put his hands on either side of Clint’s hips as he worked them up and down. 

“You’re so good,” Steve said, and met Clint’s eyes as he palmed his hand across their heads and then fisted them again. “Oh, God, fuck, Clint, I-” 

Steve ached for more contact and found himself arching and rounding his hips into Clint faster than he would have liked - but there was a half thought, somewhere, that told him things could be drawn out and teased later. He was desperate for the contact, now, desperate to come in Clint’s hand - with Clint, for Clint.

He opened his mouth as he felt the crest rise, moaning a little as Clint ground into him. “I’m going to-” he said, and Clint’s eyes were hooded and he smiled, slightly. Clint quickened his pace, tugging Steve further along until everything was warm and then he was coming, spurting all over the two of them - and it wasn’t just him, he realized, both of them were, and Clint’s mouth was slack as he emitted a loud, satisfied sound and then slumped down on top of Steve.

“You’re comfortable,” he said, after a minute, maybe thirty seconds. “I didn’t think you would be, since you’re so hard.”

“Well...” Steve said, and chuckled, doubting Clint had been deliberate.

Clint pulled himself up a little and brushed some hair out of Steve’s face, then kissed him lightly. He looked peaceful, relaxed, and it made Steve ache a little for him and he ran his hands up and down Clint’s back.

“You’ll stay?” Steve asked, and Clint looked a little taken aback but then he nodded.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for reading, kudosing, and commenting...I didn't start this with the intention of it being this long, and at 20k, it doesn't appear to be done, so I appreciate it.

“You’ve been sparring with Captain Rogers?” 

“Sir?” Clint asked, not anticipating seeing Fury in the hallway - not surprised, because Fury could pop up just about anywhere when he wanted to. But Clint had had little contact with the Director over the past two weeks. They had met for his last mandatory check-in and Fury had said they’d reevaluate him in a month for active duty.

“I shouldn’t have phrased it as a question,” Fury said, leaning against the wall.

“Yes, sir,” Clint said, meeting Fury’s eye and wondering how much he knew. He certainly wouldn’t put it past SHIELD to have surveillance cameras over at Steve’s apartment.

“You know he moved in with Stark?” Fury asked.

“Yes, sir, he mentioned that there was a training facility in the tower. Less of a commute.” 

“You going to continue sparring?” 

“I believe so, sir,” Clint said, and he coughed slightly. “While he’s very skilled, Captain Rogers learned everything in the field.” 

“Good,” said Fury. “You’ll let me know if there are any concerns?” 

Clint searched Fury’s expression again, and there was a softening to his face. Clint almost sighed - this was what made the man so hard to hate, despite everything. “Yes, sir.”

“Thank you, Agent Barton,” Fury said, and for a moment they were in an awkward position where it was clear that they were both heading for the elevator and the conversation was seemingly over. “You’ve been well?” 

Clint began to walk, and he grinned, slightly. “Sure,” he replied. “Though you know that.” Fury didn’t say anything, and then he pressed his lips together. 

“Two more weeks,” Fury said, finally, before stepping off on the third floor for his office. Clint rode down to the bottom, relieved that he hadn’t been asked where he was headed - though it was probable that Fury knew that, as well. Or didn’t. Clint had sort of given up on caring. 

Manhattan still looked like hell, though things were being fixed - though, closest to the epicenter, it was the worst. Clint shuddered, recalling the shopfronts that he remembered, and he was pretty sure that he could pinpoint the building that he had stood on and jumped off of. He told Natasha that he knew he could make the shot, but at the time, he wasn’t at all. He had been alright with that. It wasn’t unusual, in their line of work, he’d been at peace with dying plenty of times - but Clint thought, though he didn’t really want to admit, that it might have been different, that time.

Stark Tower, though, was a beacon of hope - now for an entirely different reason than its owner had intended, because instead of being the only building in the city powered by clean energy it was the only building that appeared to be structurally secure with a two block radius and the only mostly repaired one for five. Clint looked up at the single A and shook his head, then called Steve on his phone.

“You move in OK?” he asked.

“I didn’t have much,” Steve replied, then said, “Hey.” 

He had made Clint breakfast when Clint had woke up in his apartment, and Clint knew he shouldn’t surprised that Captain America knew how to make pancakes, bacon, eggs, and the perfect cup of coffee, but Steve had never really struck him as the domestic sort. 

“So, I was in the neighborhood...” Clint said. 

“I’ll meet you in the lobby,” Steve said. “You’re in luck, Tony’s at some meeting and Bruce is burrowed in the lab, so...” 

Steve embraced Clint in a hug when he saw him and for some reason this was more intimate than a kiss may have felt - and Clint understood his reticence. Not only was the place crawling with security forces, but there were likely to be cameras everywhere. Steve glanced down at the kit he had brought with him with one of his bows and quiver, and smiled.

Clint took a step back when Steve submitted his eyeball for scanning at the second elevator bank, then swallowed hard. He closed his own eyes and felt disorientated, especially since what he recalled was the rush of euphoria and confidence that had come from Loki, his absolute conviction in himself and-

He opened his eyes when Steve’s hand was on the side of his face, and he was looking down at him with concern. “Clint, I-”

“I’m good,” Clint said.

“You don’t have to be,” Steve replied. “It’s not like I haven’t...” he waved his hand a little, and Clint had almost forgotten about their unfortunate diner incident, primarily because that day ended with him smoking a blunt with Captain America.

“It just felt so right,” he said. Steve nodded, and it seemed he wanted Clint to continue, but what else was there to say? “Let’s just go up.”

“OK,” Steve said, and Clint turned his head as Steve submitted himself for the security protocol again. 

They stood, for a moment, in the elevator, then Steve pulled Clint in for a kiss. He lingered over Clint’s lips, pressing his own onto them, and then he entwined a hand in Clint’s and let go just as the elevator opened. Clint swallowed. Not that kissing him made anything better, but...

“OK,” Clint said, looking over the space. Not that he had doubted that Stark would pull out all the stops, but this was probably nicer than the four-star hotels he had taken marks back to - though, didn’t they have seven-star hotels, now? He shook his head. It didn’t matter. 

“I’ll show you the range.” It was off a short hallway, and Clint fought the urge to whistle when he saw what Stark had come up with, and so quickly. He walked a little quicker than Steve over towards the back wall where the archery and shooting range had been installed. All of the moving and immovable target protocols seemed to be there, and there were a few things he didn’t recognize, either. 

“It’s a great replica,” Clint said, and he had to smile a little bit. On his first meeting with Stark he had thought Natasha had him to a T in her report, now, he was pretty sure there were a few things she had missed. 

“You want to give it a try?” Steve asked, and paused, and then said, “I haven’t really seen you...”

“Right,” Clint said, and he felt his cheeks warm slightly - he could put on a show, certainly, and wasn’t that what he’d been doing since the first time they’d fought? And it wasn’t like his bow wasn’t in a bag off his back... He set up his bow and quiver and then looked around. “Do you know how we get this thing started?” 

“Good afternoon, Agent Barton,” came a silky English voice - and Clint startled, again, reminded of...and then he remembered Tony’s personal assistant, or AI, or whatever. Jarvis. “What level of difficulty are you interested in this afternoon?”

“Uh, haven’t really warmed up, so something moderate?” Clint said, and it was true. And it’s not like he didn’t trust himself to miss at a higher difficulty level - more that he didn’t trust whatever Stark might have built into that particular program.

The targets worked in two ways - like skeet shooting, though these were robotic and could change trajectory, and then larger targets that would appear around the obstacles of the range. At SHIELD, the range had been designed to look like some field mission, Stark had gone for utility and all smooth chrome shapes. 

Clint settled into a rhythm and worked easily, nailing everything, even the targets that started to whizz around on him unpredictably. By the middle of the program he was moving across the range, bending, standing, and twisting to get the right shot out as the speed increased. By the time he was done, he had broke into a light sweat.

“How did you-” Steve began, but he was interrupted by clapping from the door of the gym. Clint sighed. Not that he liked talking about his childhood, but...

“Hope that’s going to give you a good workout, Theon, you can feel free to tell me what you need-” Stark ambled closer to him, hands in his pockets.

“Really?” Clint asked, letting his voice drip with annoyance. 

“What?” Stark said, confused - he was in his standard business attire, expensive suit and flashy tie, converse sneakers. 

“Legolas, Katniss, Cupid...then that? You think I’m going to eventually sack your tower?” Clint glanced over at Steve, who was reaching for his smartphone and no doubt the google icon Clint had placed front and center. Clint felt bad, but he needed to carve out some space with Stark - who was grinning, at least. 

“You’re right,” he said. “My sincerest apologies.” 

“It’s OK,” Clint said. He paused. “You’d be the Black Wolf.”

“Packed off to the wall right along with Jon Snow,” Tony said, shaking his head.

“No, sent off to the Eyrie to have to deal with Lysa and Sweet Robin,” Clint replied. Tony grinned at him.

“It’s a book series,” Clint said to Steve, since his brow was still furrowed.

“And a TV show - you should start with that, Cap-Steve, very high quality-”

“I like reading,” Steve said, and his voice was a little terse. He gave Clint a soft smile, though, indicating he understood what had just transpired.

“Great!” Stark said, clapping his hands together. “Just wanted to make sure you were a satisfied customer - well, user, I suppose, and, seriously, we can talk about tweaks and - your quiver is mechanical?” 

“Much faster,” Clint said, shrugging. Stark leaned down so he could inspect the bow and quiver, and there was a curious light in his eyes that made him look childlike.

“So you use your hand to select the various - that could work faster, you know, it would just need a little tweaking and-” Clint slapped at Stark’s hand as he reached for the quiver. “You can, uh, send me the design plans over and I can see what I can do?” 

“Sure,” Clint said. 

“You going to stick around? Bruce and I are ordering dinner,” Stark said, the slump in his shoulders belying the grin on his face. Clint glanced over at Steve, who shrugged, then nodded. 

After Stark left, Steve walked over to Clint and handed him his kit bag. “So where did you learn..?” 

“There was a set in one of the garages of some house we moved into,” Clint said, packing as he went. “I used to go out back to get away from my brother and shoot...and then, when our family just ran off, joined the circus - well, it was more of a carnival, Barney got started as a carnie on one of those balloon popping games my father bought, and that was when one of the performers saw I had good aim...” Clint shrugged, realizing this was the most - and longest - he had spoken about this in some time. “Then, as soon as I was eighteen I signed up, to get away from it. Got plucked right out of basic for the Rangers...” 

Steve nodded, smiling slightly, and Clint pulled himself up so he could kiss him. “Thanks,” Clint said, though he wasn’t sure why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Tony are talking about the _A Song of Ice and Fire_ book series, made into _Game of Thrones_ on HBO. Theon Greyjoy is primarily and archer and also a dickhead. 
> 
> The idea that Tony would be the worst Stark, and packed right off for the wall, comes from this glorious fic - [Winter is Coming, Just Not to Malibu](http://archiveofourown.org/works/438064) by neviditelny, and is so completely spot on I never get tired of it.


	10. Chapter 10

“Hey,” Stark said, the next time he caught Clint at the tower, a few days after his initial visit. “I forgot, last time, to get your ocular capture-” Both Clint and Steve still had wet hair from the gym’s shower, both of them were...turned on, for lack of a better word, from grappling with each other and then retreating to single showers, and this was the sort of cock-block that Clint really didn’t need.

“I don’t want - I don’t live here,” he said, and he looked down, because he got the sense that Steve was staring a hole right through Stark - _Tony,_ he told himself, _it’s really got to the point where you should be going with his first name._

Also, Clint didn’t need someone to defend him, for fuck’s sake he was-

“OK, right,” Stark said, voice quiet. “Maybe later we’ll get your finger prints, at least, and I can get Jarvis programmed for vocal recognition-”

“You can get the eye,” Clint said, voice both harsher and less sure than he wanted. “Just not right now.” 

He knew Steve wanted to touch him, and he quickly dodged his hand and then walked past Stark and into his own room - and he hadn’t actually been in here, other than to give it a cursory inspection. Same as Steve’s. Except for the Legolas doll perched on top of the TV stand, and Clint sighed, and felt bad.

“Clint?” Steve asked, and only his head was in the door. Clint sat down on the bed. “Can I-”

“Of course you can,” Clint said. “I just...” he shook his head. _This is something you’ll never really get over,_ his therapist said. _It’s difficult enough for our agents subjected to conventional mind control..._

“I understand,” Steve said, and he hung awkwardly near the door, next to the television stand. “Is this...Legolas?” 

“Yeah,” Clint said, relieved - and should they talk about these things? Or was it OK to just implicitly understand, to be able to make internal comparisons based on their similar experiences? “How have we not gotten around to watching that yet?”

Steve shrugged, and Clint pat the space on the bed next to him. It felt like a childish gesture, but Steve seemed to appreciate it. When he sat down on the bed, he put his hand into Clint’s and then squeezed. “I don’t have anything else to do today. Seems that the whole super hero thing has a lot of downtime, arguably in exchange for the hazards of saving the world. Like undersea welding.”

“Undersea welding?” Clint asked, because...what? 

Steve shrugged, as though this was a perfectly reasonable thing to know, or bring up. “I don’t know, I was clicking through Wikipedia and...their job is so dangerous, they only do it like three or four weeks out of the year and spend the rest of the time lounging around. Or taking regular welding jobs for extra money, but...” Steve gave him a rueful smile. 

“So, OK,” Clint said, smiling book. “Movie, then?” Steve nodded. “I’ll get supplies-”

“We don’t need-” Steve began, as Clint stood, and Steve held his hand firm. Clint tugged it away.

“You just worked out, Rogers,” he said, summoning his most stern SHIELD agent command voice. “You get hungry after an hour or so of sitting around.” Steve shrugged, and glanced down at himself, and sometimes even now he seemed a little surprised to find that his body was in the state it was. It was...kind of adorable, really, though Clint would never say this.

When Clint returned, Steve had spread a spare sheet over Clint’s bed, much like they were having a picnic, and Clint had to appreciate Steve’s fastidious nature. This was not something Clint would have cared about - especially since he had no intention of sleeping in the bed.

Steve, as predicated, moved through the huge bowl of popcorn, the bag of carrots, and the M&Ms Clint had brought out - happily crunching through the whole movie, an arm wrapped around Clint so Clint could recline into Steve’s chest and watch. It was surprisingly comfortable, and easy, and somehow, despite all their various issues or setbacks, they’d managed to get here.

Clint had to move to stretch when the first film was over, and he rotated his left shoulder, hoping that it was just tight from the position he was in. He would prefer for that nagging injury to remain dormant, he didn’t medical on his ass, too.

“I need to go to the bathroom, and then we can put on-” he said, and as he shuffled towards the side of the bed, Steve reached and grabbed his wrist.

His grasp was gentle, because it had to be, but it was also authoritative. Clint felt his breath hitch, and Steve had this look in his eyes that Clint hadn’t seen before - confident and sassy, as much as Clint really didn’t want to apply the word to a grown man. “That’s OK?” Steve asked, and Clint nodded, and allowed Steve to push him back down to a seated position on the bed.

“It was an effort in restraint, you know, throughout the movie...” Steve began, and he moved from Clint’s side to straddling over him with real ease.

“I thought it was an effort in eating a fuck ton of food,” Clint replied. Steve pinned his other wrist, and Clint almost involuntarily hitched his hips up, trying to make contact with Steve’s - _and where, exactly,_ he had to wonder, _had Steve Rogers figured out to do this?_ Not that it really mattered. Unless he had asked Stark - then, Clint would want that story.

“Clint,” Steve said, and the reproach in his voice was very good. He let Clint’s wrists go, but shifted Clint so he could work his shirt off. Steve’s hands drifted over Clint’s chest, gently stroking his smattering of chest hair and then thumbing over his nipples - something Clint had introduced Steve to a night or so ago. Steve settled a little further onto Clint, finally bringing their cocks in contact - though sadly filtered by both their sweatpants. 

Steve traced his collarbone, then leaned down and kissed Clint, hard - opening his mouth and bringing their tongues together, almost pressing into Clint, and _fuck,_ Clint thought, because Steve’s cock felt impossibly hard against his own. “Steve...”

“Just let me...” Steve said, and Clint blanched, for a moment, hoping that his taking control of things the past few times they’d been together hadn’t made Steve self conscious - he met his eyes and then smiled, Steve seemed confident. Steve put a hand to his chest and Clint moved backwards, then let Steve guide him down onto his back while Steve remained on his knees.

Steve arched his back, and Clint had to sigh as he removed his shirt. “You are perfect,” Clint said. Steve gave a little shrug, like it was no big thing, and Clint had to close his eyes. His hips jumped again when Steve bent to kiss him - though it quickly transitioned to Steve kissing down his chest, sucking his nipples, and moving downwards so that he was parallel with Clint’s navel. “Steve..?”

“Mmm?” Steve asked, but he gave Clint a slight nod and then bent down and mouthed over where Clint’s cock was.

“Oh...fuck,” Clint moaned, because Steve’s lips were basically fluttering against his cock, and it wasn’t fair. Steve mouthed over his erection, pressing his lips down as he kissed and then sliding them up and down the length. Clint squirmed as Steve continued, applying a bit more pressure, and got one of his wrists pinned again. Steve used his other hand to slip his sweat pants off. He ran a hand down Clint’s side and then his finger underneath the band of his underwear. 

Clint felt Steve tense, then, and so he took his free hand and ran it through Steve’s hair, making sure his fingers were nimble and massaging his scalp. This seemed to settle Steve, and Clint arched his hips so Steve could slide his underwear off.

Steve bent down again to work his mouth around Clint’s hip bones, down the soft skin to where the hair began and then he lifted and moved to the other side. 

“Tease,” Clint said, and Steve kissed and then blew at the moist skin. “Fuck you,” Clint added. 

Steve looked up, then, eyes meeting Clint and so close to his cock Clint had to resist the urge to- then Steve smiled, slightly, and stretched his tongue out and licked the tip of Clint’s cock. “Steve,” Clint hissed. 

Steve licked again, then tongued at Clint’s head and put a hand at the base. Steve lapped around Clint’s head, and then he pumped as he licked over the top again and again and then he slowed as he put his lips on the head. Still able to be objective - but rapidly heading down the rabbit hole - Clint noted that Steve was a little tentative, sometimes unsure...but it did not matter. 

Steve pumped as he licked over the top over and over, and then he slowed as he put his lips on the head. He stopped there, for a moment, and Clint put a hand in his hair again - and he debated saying something, to tell Steve he didn’t need to...but it would ruin this moment, which he suspected Steve had been careful to cultivate.

He heard Steve inhale, and then he took in the tip of Clint’s cock. It was maddening, since his lips were right on the sensitive edge, and Clint moaned. Then Steve asked a question, somehow forgetting he had the tip of a dick in his mouth, and Clint had to reach out and grab at the sheets.

“That feels good, like that?” Steve asked, genuinely curious.

“Fuck,” Clint said, and nodded, so Steve took the tip in again and hummed, and he hummed all the way down as he worked most of Clint’s cock into his mouth. Clint ran his fingers through his hair when he sensed that Steve might be beginning to gag, and he waited to let go until Steve slid back up his cock and then down again. 

Not surprisingly, it didn’t take long for Steve to build him to the point where he felt warmth collect in the pit of his abdomen - and somehow, Steve seemed to sense this, and so he pulled back and ran a finger up Clint’s shaft, then licked the same line. 

“God, Steve...” Clint said, and he could feel the smile on Steve’s lips as he sucked on the tip, then released it with a pop so he could trace his tongue around Clint’s head again. Clint had one hand in Steve’s hair at this point and another on his shoulder, and he pulled himself up slightly in the pillows so he could get a better view of Steve buried between his legs. 

Steve took him down, then, and Clint shuddered. Steve softened his mouth when he took in as much of Clint as he could manage, and then he moved quickly up and down from there and used his tongue to swirl around the head. 

“Steve, oh, god, that’s so fucking good...” Clint said, and the build was steady from that point. Then he had a moment of clarity - this was Steve’s first time, after all, and Clint remembered... “Steve, I’m going to, you can, if you...” Steve lifted his head so he could meet Clint’s eyes, and then put his hand at the base on Clint’s cock. It only took a few strokes to draw Clint to gratifying completion, and he crested in waves into Steve’s hand. “Steve-” Clint began, when he felt coherent again, because..?

“I looked it up on Wikipedia,” Steve said, voice both playful and a little bashful, and he was blushing - and it would never get old, how cute he could look sometimes. Clint put a hand between his shoulders and guided him up and settled Steve on his chest so he could work his fingers through Steve’s soft hair.

“I had no idea they told you how to-”

“Well, there was a link,” Steve said, and Clint laughed. He guided Steve’s head up so he could kiss his forehead, feeling just a little bit protective and in awe of him. Steve grabbed some tissues from the bedside table and cleaned them both carefully, then gently set the tissues on the table. Clint shook his head at him. “What?”

Instead, Clint reached a hand down and grasped Steve’s cock at the base. “Oh,” Steve said, as though he hadn’t anticipated reciprocation. 

“Oh?” Clint asked, and Steve rolled over onto his back and raised his eyebrows in a good approximation of an innocent look. Clint shook his head and cupped Steve’s balls.

“Oh!” Steve gasped. Clint rolled them, gentle, and experimentally pressed back against Steve’s prostate - not that he expected...but he had thought about this, and decided it best to build slowly towards... “Oh, fuck, Clint...” 

“Something like that,” Clint said, and he kissed his way down Steve slowly as he gently fisted his cock, relishing the build and the tease. Steve was so sensitive, so quick to respond - obviously a function of the serum - and he squirmed as Clint dodged the central area in favor of placing his lips on others. 

Well, until Steve said, “Please,” and who could resist that? Clint took his time, though, finding and noting each sensitive space on Steve’s cock, how Steve wiggled when he swirled his tongue along the underside of the head and licked the tip flat with his tongue. He only increased his pace when he felt a tug in his hair. Steve’s hands were frantic, a little grabby, and Clint had to grin. 

He went back to cupping and gently rolling Steve’s balls as he moved his lips faster, then reached back and massaged. “Oh, God, Clint, fuck, what is...fuck,” Steve said, and Clint quickly swirled his tongue around Steve’s head before taking him down fully. Steve made some kind of wanton noise and hitched his hips, and Clint worked his thumb a little faster and his mouth a good deal faster.

He glanced up when he knew. Steve was beautiful when he came - there was a slack in his jaw, his eyes became hooded, and he looked relaxed. And young. “God, Clint,” Steve said. 

“Well,” Clint said, pursing his lips. “You can read about it, but I’ve always found experiential learning more valuable.” 

“Ha,” said Steve, as Clint worked his way up the bed and sided next to him. “Yes, I suppose so.” Clint nodded, and Steve kissed him, grazed his lips, and Clint sighed. “Are you staying for dinner?”

Clint nodded, and he waited for a moment to see if Steve was going to push it any further - he hadn’t asked why Clint did not want to move into the Tower, and Clint wondered if he really knew or was just being polite. Clint thought it would be too much, they’d be too close, this was all so new and fragile that it seemed to benefit from space and distance. He was pretty sure, if he wasn’t careful, he would fuck it up. He was good at that.

“I think Bruce is cooking,” Steve said, and his voice was softer. He glanced at the watch he had on his hand. “We probably have time for the second movie.”

“Good,” Clint said. “I think that one is my favorite.”


	11. Chapter 11

“Can’t sleep?” Steve startled, and he should have been paying attention, but he had only just pulled himself out of some nightmare - a looping, waking one where he felt some sense of control but where, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop horrible things from happening. 

“Dr. Banner,” he said. Bruce was hunched over the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living area, and it took Steve a moment to identify the smell of tea - and, fuck, it immediately took him to Farnsworth, because that man lugged his tea around with him like it was gold, and it sort of was, during the war. _I am an Englishman, I have my priorities straight,_ he would say, and someone would laugh, no matter how many times they’d heard it.

“You want some tea?” Bruce asked. 

“What kind?”

“Peppermint. Settles the stomach,” Bruce said. Steve sat down next to him and nodded, and Bruce went and turned the electric kettle back on. “Jarvis, maybe some dim lights in the kitchen?”

“Of course, Master Banner,” the AI replied, and Steve squinted momentarily. Bruce had deep circles under his eyes.

“I, uh, usually don’t sleep too well, or too much, either,” Bruce said, handing Steve his mug. 

“Oh,” Steve said, and since he had got to know Bruce, he had nearly forgot that everything that happened to him had been a result of trying to replicate the serum. It made sense that there would be some similarities between them. “Smells nice.” 

Bruce cocked his head, then sighed. “So. This has the potential to be awkward, but...let’s not, maybe, talk about all that? Say we did?” 

Steve nodded, relieved they were on the same wavelength. He blew into his tea, then said, “So, you’ve been doing..?” Bruce narrowed his eyes, slightly, and it made Steve wonder when he had last slept. “You’re usually in the lab, I was just wondering...”

“Oh, right. Yes. Research,” Bruce said. “Well, mostly for some of Tony’s projects, I, uh, haven’t had the ability to pick up...well.” He gave Steve an apologetic look, as if Steve wasn’t the one who had asked a question that would lead to that kind of answer.

“I feel like half the things I have to say are like that,” Steve said, and took a sip of the tea. The taste stung, for a moment, but then it morphed into a less sweet version of the hard candy’s Bucky used to suck on all of the time. Peppermint tea - who would have thought?

“Yeah,” Bruce said. “That’s what I feel...well, solidarity is good, right?”

“Sure,” Steve said.

“Of all of us, the easiest person to explain is the sniper who uses a bow and arrow,” Bruce said, and then he looked down and smiled slightly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be...Tony.” Steve had to laugh at this - when he initially met Bruce, he never would have thought that he would be easy to talk to, or, at least, the person that it was good to find in the kitchen at 3:47 in the morning. 

“It’s fine,” Steve said. “It’s not like we’re not...” He shrugged - he was going to say, _it’s not like it’s some secret,_ but then, should it be? Was it? Steve wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to waltz into Fury’s office and tell him about their relationship, let alone find himself on some lurid newspaper cover. He could only imagine what some of the people he read about in the newspapers and saw on television would have to say about it - that was a headache he certainly didn’t need to deal with. 

Bruce gave him a slight smile. “If you don’t mind my asking...” Steve nodded, though he really didn’t want to be probed - but he figured, if it was Bruce, it couldn’t be too bad. “How much do you usually sleep a night?”

“Oh,” Steve said. “Five hours. Six, seven after...strenuous activity. Or, at least, since I’ve...since lately.” He hadn’t really been paying attention during the war, and a lot of times things were so variable there was no real good way to make any generalizations. Back then, sometimes he would be awake for days and would take whatever sleep he could get, or they would have to take two hour shifts each night, or they would sleep when they came to an abandoned farmhouse that had beds.

“Yeah,” Bruce said. “I think I slept for fourteen hours once we got back to the tower, after...” Steve remembered. Bruce had nearly fallen asleep in his food, and Thor had to sort of catch him once as they walked back. “It was just supposed to be about the gamma radiation, you know.” 

It sounded just like an aside, but Steve knew enough about Bruce to know it was quite pointed. “I guess I don’t have the clearance level for the whole explanation,” Steve said. “Or SHIELD didn’t think I was much of a reader.”

“For an intelligence organization, they seem to rely on stereotypes a lot,” Bruce said. Then he nodded at Steve, dropped his mug off into the sink, and then exited the kitchen. 

* *

“Hey, Captain - Steve, see, we’re friends, first name basis - do you have a moment?” Steve looked up from the book he was reading on the collapse of the Soviet Union. He had spread himself out on one of the sofas that faced out towards the city - the view certainly wasn’t pretty, with all of the construction and damage, but he found it almost soothing. Life went on. “This is Colonel James Rhodes, U.S. Air Force.” 

“It’s a real pleasure, Captain,” said the Colonel, standing stiff next to Tony in his casual uniform. Steve stood and found himself instantly straightening into the familiar position he took with Colonel Phillips. He held his hand out and shook, and then glanced away when Colonel Rhodes grimaced - sometimes Steve forgot how strong he could be... “I was just in town to get a tour of all of the repair efforts.” 

Steve nodded, and Tony stood next to the Colonel and beamed - it was as if he was trying to prove something to Steve, like, _see, I’m not all bad...I have friends!_ “Things seem to be moving along,” Steve replied. “I assisted with a lot of the early clean-up.”

“Right,” Tony said, and he rocked back on his feet. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind coming along to give the more personal tour. We already did the official one.”

“What, as in, and this is the window I jumped out of..?” Steve asked, and he was taken back to the smell - whatever those aliens were, and especially whatever those slugs were, they had a unique, pungent odor when they burned that was permanently seared into the back of his nose and could be easily recalled when the situation warranted it. 

“Well, sort of, Rhodey’s interested in how we handled things and - you know he’s got his own suit, right, and really, would have been helpful if you had shown up?” 

“You never called,” Colonel Rhodes replied, and Steve wondered how, exactly, these two very different men had become good friends.

“Let me just get my jacket,” Steve said - not that he needed it, but it would give him a moment to compose himself and let Clint know what he was up to. He had said he was going to train with Natasha before some mandatory physical, but there hadn’t been anything beyond that. Steve understood the reticence - Clint wasn’t used to being close to people, either emotionally or just in terms of physical proximity. Not since the military, at least, and even then he’d been a sniper, part of the team but not.

Tony babbled the whole elevator ride about something Steve didn’t quite understand, meaning it was either an inside joke or some kind of pop culture reference. When he stopped, presumably to take a breath, Steve said, “So, where did you two meet?” 

Tony arched an eyebrow, and Steve wondered if this was an inappropriate question - it seemed, to him, to just be a sort of standard getting to know you kind of thing. 

“At MIT,” Colonel Rhodes said as they walked out of the tower. “We were lab partners in our first year physics course - well, I was assigned to be Tony’s lab partner.”

“No one else wanted me, despite the fact that I was smarter than all of them,” Tony said. “And look how it worked out for you.” 

“Exactly,” said Colonel Rhodes, and Steve chuckled. Tony did his best to look hurt. 

“Well,” Steve said, when they stopped and both men looked at him. “Even though the invasion was centered around the tower, the majority of the damage is one to two blocks out - we drew the force out and away from the center. We decided-”

“You determined,” Tony corrected, and Steve was a little surprised by that, and couldn’t contain his sight smile.

“You’d already started it,” Tony said, and Colonel Rhodes was regarding them with interest. “We decided to establish a perimeter, so Tony was charged with keeping everything contained within that-”

“Turn it back to us, or turn it dust. Or something like that,” Tony said.

“Right, so...” Steve said, and did his best to narrate as they walked through the streets. He was impressed with the level of repair that there was, and there were even some people at the cafes and restaurants on the ground level. “Oh, hold on,” he said, as his phone vibrated in his pocket.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Stark said, nodding at Steve texting. “I can’t take all the credit, of course, but I like to think-”

“Clint is going to join us,” Steve said, and then when he saw Colonel Rhodes confusion, he said, “Agent Barton.”

“The sniper?” Colonel Rhodes asked. 

Steve nodded. 

“He and Clint have been sparring,” Tony said, and Steve turned and gave Tony one of his bright, Star Spangled Man with a Plan grins. Tony grinned back, though it was a little uneasy.

“Right,” said Colonel Rhodes. He took a step back, and then smiled at both of them. 

“This is where, I think, I stopped that alien bomb - they had a bunch of people cornered in here,” Steve said, slipping right back into the narrative. 

“It’s where one of them ripped off his cowl, allowing the whole world to see how pretty Captain America is,” Tony said. 

“Wait - they took those pictures while they were about to be blown up?” Colonel Rhodes asked. 

Steve nodded - it was one of the things that he thought of as an example about modernity and how superfluous it all was. Even with their lives being threatened, people decided they needed to get photographic evidence of it - to send it to friends, or post on the internet, or...

“You sure got here quick, Cupid,” Tony said, and Steve turned and smiled at Clint, who had his hands in his pockets. 

“I texted while I was walking,” he said, and he gave a slight side-eye over to Colonel Rhodes and Tony. Steve stepped forward and then leaned down and kissed him - light, just something as a greeting, and he hoped he wasn’t presuming too much. He didn’t think he was. They had slept together in the same bed, they had been intimate together...

“Good thing they repealed DADT, right?” Tony said. “Can you imagine what a publicity mess that would be? It would put me and that oil heiress thing to shame-”

“The suspicion of corruption there could have caused a multinational incident,” Colonel Rhodes replied, then said, “You’re still enlisted?”

“You saw her...” Tony said, at the same time, and motioned at his chest.

“I believe so, sir,” Steve said. “Though I’ve been permanently loaned to SHIELD.”

“I didn’t realize that was possible...” Colonel Rhodes murmured. “And, really, James.” 

“His name is Rhodey,” Tony added.

“It‘s how I ended up over there,” Clint said. “From the Rangers.” 

“See, you could come and join us, it’s much more fun - who needs terrorist threats...you don’t even fly the planes anymore, with those drones, and how much of a pussy move is that - aliens are so much better. Because there will be more aliens.”

“God, I hope not,” Clint said. “I don’t think I’ll forget the smell of those charred space whales.” 

“What did you do with those, anyway?” Rhodey asked.

“Sent them to Buffalo,” Tony replied. “Same place as Tom Brokaw’s anthrax desk. You guys want to get something to eat?” 

“I’m glad you were able to resist the sushi joke,” Rhodey said.

“Too obvious - I operate at a higher level than that, honestly...” Tony began, and Steve found himself walking next to Clint and holding his hand as they headed away from the devastation and towards the parts of the city that were less affected. 

Steve tried to image Tony and Rhodey as lab partners, Tony fourteen and with all of the traits inherent in that age, Rhodey eighteen and a member of ROTC...he shook his head. 

“Sometimes, those kinds of things are inexplicable,” Clint said, voice soft. He had followed Steve’s gaze to Tony and Rhodey, who were walking ahead of them, Tony almost bouncing as he talked.

“Do you think I should call Pepper?” Tony said, walking but turning towards Steve and Clint. “But then that leaves you without a date, Rhodes, and you don’t want to be the third wheel - is Natasha available? You’ll like her, red head, Russian, very-” 

“Sure,” Clint said, pulling his phone out. “Natasha supports fun.” 

* * *

Natasha was at the restaurant by the time they got her - another thing to add to the list that Steve was compiling about her possible preternatural powers. He didn’t care what SHIELD said to the contrary. 

“Natasha Romanov,” Tony said. “James Rhodes - did you two meet, when you were Natalie Rushman? I don’t remember, I was preoccupied-”

“We did,” Natasha said. She was wearing a simple black skirt with a white button down tucked in, but her heels were impressive and made her nearly as tall as Tony. “Natasha,” she said, and she had an amused look on her face when she considered Clint and Steve. 

“Well,” Clint said, siding up to the bar while they waited for Pepper. “This should be fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom Brokaw's anthrax desk is actually in Lewiston, north of Buffalo, along with lots of other toxic goodies. Then they decided to build a school right on top of it.


	12. Chapter 12

Steve was surprised how enjoyable dinner was. Tony’s plan to ameliorate the third wheel problem was slightly sabotaged when Pepper turned up with Bruce in tow. He looked a little frantic, and it was only in seeing him out in public that Steve realized he hadn’t seen Bruce venture out of the tower since he had moved in. Steve quickly pulled out the chair next to him. “Dr. Banner,” he said, and this made Rhodey raise an eyebrow - then he grimaced, slightly, and Steve was pretty sure this was because Tony kicked him under the table.

“Bruce, really, uh, Steve,” Bruce said, and gave Natasha a slight smile when she pushed one of the bottles of wine towards him.

Steve hadn’t thought conversation between all of them would be easy, but he neglected the fact that both Tony and Pepper were basically professionals at this. They guided them into small group interactions and then brought the whole table back together, all pretty much seamlessly. Clint was quiet for a good deal of it, but he seemed alright with that. Steve didn’t understand a lot of what everyone was talking about, but he was cheered by the fact that they seemed to be able to function like this. 

“Dessert looks amazing,” Steve said, studying the list. 

“Stuffed,” Clint said. He had had some kind of fish with lobster chunks and a thick red sauce that had looked amazing, it made Steve wish he hadn’t gone for the steak until he tasted the steak. 

“You could have some...we could share?” Steve asked.

“As long as you don’t feed it to me,” Clint replied, and Steve caught Natasha giving them a very slight, but very genuine smile. Steve sometimes wondered what she thought of all of this - he hadn’t really seen her, since Thor had left, and after the battle she had been very protective of Clint. Before he could respond, though, the waiter came to take their order, and when Steve was done, Natasha was speaking to Rhodey and laughing. 

As they were getting ready to leave, Ton asked, “You coming back, Merida?” Steve glanced over at Clint, sorry that he hadn’t had a chance to ask and left it to get brought up in front of the whole table.

“You’re going to run out of archers, soon,” Clint said.

“Yes, but by then,” Rhodey replied, “he’ll know you well enough to find something else that annoys you.” Clint smiled at this, and then met Steve’s eyes and nodded. 

Everyone else got into cabs, but Steve hung back when it didn’t look like Clint wanted to join them. “It’s a nice evening,” he said, after nodding goodbye to Natasha. 

“It is,” Steve said, and smiled at him. “You had an alright time?”

“Yeah,” Clint said, and they walked a few more paces before he spoke again. “It just felt so...normal. Well, not the detailing our exploits amongst the wreckage part, but...” Steve nodded, and waited. Clint was definitely the sort of person who, when he had something he needed to say, took time to put it together. “I just feel like, after everything, I don’t...”

“I understand,” Steve said, and he could probably even empathize with it - he’d felt that way, after Bucky, when Peggy had come and comforted him, wrapped her arm around him... 

“Sometimes I remember, and it’s so vivid,” Clint said. “I wonder if there’s a little piece of him left. Waiting.” 

“I guess you can’t know, really,” Steve said. He waited, and glanced upwards when Clint didn’t respond to this. Steve hadn’t wanted to say something trite - the same thing Clint had probably been fed by plenty of people. It was a legitimate fear, or, even if it was not, it was real. There were times when Steve opened a freezer and felt his skin crawl. 

“OK,” Clint said, finally, then, “I appreciate that.” 

“We’ll deal with it, if it happens,” Steve replied. 

“We?” Clint asked, and Steve nodded.

“And, really, it’s not _that_ great of a method, at least in regards to you, if all it does is take a good kick or punch to the head to get you out of it,” Steve said.

Clint gave him half a grin at that. “You’d be surprised how many genius meglo-maniac wannabe warlords manage to overlook something like that.” He paused. “You might want to keep an eye on Stark, now that he’s got Banner.”

“You think they’re wannabe warlords?” Steve asked.

“Of the lab,” Clint replied, and then his tone became more serious. “Just...you know. Neither of them has a good history of, uh, safety precautions. Really.” 

“I do,” Steve said. Clint nodded, and Steve reached over and took his hand - he could, nowadays, or at least he got that impression. At least in New York. He felt Clint tense, for a moment, then he relaxed and squeezed Steve’s hand. 

“Natasha says I’m getting soft,” Clint replied.

After a few beats, Steve said, “Oh, there’s a pun there, isn’t there?” Clint laughed at this. “Besides, with all the exercise-”

“God, Steve,” Clint said, and swung Steve’s hand upwards and then kissed before he shook his head. Steve looked down and smiled. He did know how Clint felt, about not deserving something.

* *

The floor was quiet when they got home - Steve assumed Tony was entertaining up in his penthouse, and was grateful for it. 

“Fuck,” Clint said, looking at his watch, “it’s still early.” Steve opened the door to his room and Clint followed inside, then slumped down onto the couch. 

“It feels late?” Steve asked, and he stood, and he could tell that Clint was trying to build some distance between them, as though earlier had been enough for the evening.

“It was a long day. Full physical. I’m fit for duty.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Steve said. “But that’s...good, right?” 

Clint shrugged his shoulder and turned to face Steve. He looked so young, then, but there were significant bags under his eyes. “That’s not the one I thought would be tricky.” 

“They’ve never even given me a mental one,” Steve replied, and he sat down next to Clint, making sure to keep a buffer between them. 

“Usually that kind of thing-” Clint stopped, abruptly, and looked down at his hands. “Coulson took care of that stuff.” Steve nodded. Clint had brought up Coulson a few times, mostly in passing - and Steve hadn’t prodded. He had only known the man for a few hours and interacted with him for less. He wasn’t the person to share Clint’s grief, though he was happy to listen. “He once stopped a convenience store robbery using a bag of flour.” 

“What?” Steve asked, and Clint described the moment for him - it was still somewhere on SHIELD’s computers, even though they had scrubbed it from the gas station’s security cameras. 

“He was good at what he did,” Clint said. “And that’s not to be...he would have taken that as the highest compliment.”

Steve nodded. “You are, too.” As soon as he said it, he knew it was wrong.

Clint studied him for a moment. “Well, that was most of the problem, wasn’t it?” Steve waited, wanting to touch Clint, but holding back. “How far would Loki have got with Selvig? A couple of feet, before Selvig creamed himself over unfettered access to that thing.” Clint shook his head.

“I know,” Steve replied, and when Clint cocked his head, Steve elaborated. “I know what it can do - I’ve seen its influence, I mean.” 

“I almost forgot about that,.” Clint said. “I didn’t really think about it-”

“It’s OK,” Steve said. “I would say its best in Asgard, but they lost it in the first place, left it here...” he shook his head, then leaned forward and kissed Clint - not sure if it was appropriate, but it was what he wanted to do. Besides, what else was there to really say about any of those things?

Clint tilted his head into the kiss, and introduced his tongue. It was tentative at first, then he plunged it into Steve’s mouth. Steve put an arm around Clint and drew him closer, and Clint put a hand on his lower back and then rubbed down, cupping Steve’s ass. When Steve pulled away, Clint’s eyes were hooded and he looked down.

“Movie?” Steve asked, and he ran his fingers through Clint’s hair. 

“I just...” Clint said, and he paused for a moment.

“It’s OK,” Steve said, and even though he really didn’t understand, he had an idea of what was going on - that Clint was connecting the intense physical exam that SHIELD put everyone through with Loki’s possession, that things had rose a little too close to the surface. “Pick something funny?”

“Yeah,” Clint said, and then he laid his head down on Steve’s shoulder for a moment. 

* * 

Steve woke up at four, maybe five in the morning - pretty par for the course, except Clint had got into his bed without Steve even suggesting it. Steve had wrapped himself around him for some time as the two of them drifted off to sleep. He put his arm around Clint and hugged him tight, and sighed as Clint reciprocated and curled deeper into him. 

“I’m old, you know,” Clint said. 

“I’m older,” Steve replied.

“Depends on how you look at it,” Clint said. “I feel old.”

“Yeah,” Steve replied, and nuzzled into Clint’s neck. “Well.” 

“This is really nice, though,” Clint said, and Steve could hear the sound of sleep in his voice. Steve smiled into his neck and listened as Clint’s breathing regulated.

Now, Clint was sleeping on his side with his arm draped over Steve, and every other time that Steve had woke up with Clint in bed with him the two had pulled apart in sleep. It was nothing unusual, Steve thought, it was probably only in movies where people slept the whole night entwined. Still, this was nice, and Steve resisted the urge to reach over and brush his fingers through some of Clint’s hair. 

He was pinned, though, and there wasn’t much that he could do - he didn’t want to disrupt him. Clint had told him what one of his bottles of pills was for, and Steve couldn’t blame him. People deserved to sleep. If they had that kind of thing back in the war, things might have gone better for a lot of people. 

Steve sighed, softly - he didn’t really like having time to himself, to think about things. In the weeks between being released from SHIELD and being defrosted, he’d wandered, read books that he remembered from his childhood, flicked through television channels, wandered the city...since the attack on New York, he realized it was easier to try and immerse himself in 2013 - there was certainly enough to catch up on. It certainly made things seem more concrete. 

When he had time to think, though, it was all so tenuous again, like those immediate days when he had consented to stay in SHIELD’s New York facility for observation. Sometimes, as he waited between examinations and questions to determine his physical and mental acuity, he thought perhaps he could close his eyes and all of this would go away - or that it would prove to be some hallucination as he died, as he froze.

Instantly, thinking of the ice, he reached and pulled the comforter up over him tighter. Clint made a soft sound, then rolled and pressed his head onto Steve’s chest. From their initial encounters, Steve would never have guessed Clint for someone who wanted this kind of touch and intimacy - not that he didn’t like it.

“Cold?” Clint mumbled, Steve almost heaved a sigh of relief before wrapping his arm around Clint.

“Always,” he said, and it was true - and not, because he wasn’t conscious of it but it was always there. 

“Body heat works,” Clint murmured, and Steve closed his eyes for a moment and remembered Peggy, talking to him as he pulled the plane down - how she did her best to remain resolute and calm, as though they were actually making a date. And, Steve supposed, until the plane crashed through the ice and into the water, that he just might make it after all. He knew from his winter in Europe that cold didn’t affect him too much, and they had him on radar. But then, as the water came in, he knew... “Steve?”

“I’m OK,” he said. “Just. You know.” 

“I do,” Clint said. “If you’re awake, you can get up...” his voice was still sleepy, and Steve ran his fingers through his hair like he had thought of doing earlier. 

“Compromise,” Steve said, and he pulled himself up into the pillows slightly and flicked on the tiny reading light that he bought at Best Buy once Clint had slept over the first time. He pulled out the fiction book he was reading, one recommended by Bruce, and Clint followed soon after, settling himself back down into Steve’s chest.

“You are a master tactician,” Clint mumbled, and Steve resisted the urge to laugh and let Clint fall back asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the gratuitous porn chapter.

Clint was at the breakfast bar, reading, and he pretended not to hear Tony Stark coming. He knew Tony was trying to be sneaky. He was waiting for some of the leftovers to warm up from dinner the night before.

“So,” said Tony, sliding up next to him. “How does it feel to be the person who turned Captain America gay?”

“What?” Clint asked, setting his book aside. 

“Well, before...I mean, Bucky told my dad about all the sad double dates they went on, mostly to bitch about how after the serum Bucky was completely marginalized...and then, of course, he was in love with Peggy Carter-” 

“I don’t think you can turn someone gay,” Clint replied.

Tony put both his hands up. “It’s flattering! Like, you are such a paragon of male excellence and...whatever, you’re a flipper, you inspired him to-” Clint shook his head at Tony, slowly, and gave him the steely gaze he had learned from Natasha that suggested that bodily harm might be eminent if the individual on the receiving end kept talking. “I was just...restart?”

“Sure,” Clint said, at the same time he thought, _Fuck,_ because Tony actually raised something he hadn’t considered. 

“So, what are you reading?” Tony asked. Clint shoved the book towards him - something Natasha had recommended. Clint wasn’t much of a reader, but Steve devoured books, and he seemed to feel less awkward about it if Clint was reading as well.

“OK, yeah, remember this one from college,” Tony said. “You like it?” 

“Sure,” Clint said. “I’m not too far into it.” He was saved by the ding! - or the bell - of the microwave, and he went to gather up the last of the leftovers.

“You and the Captain, you’ve got a thing for Mexican food?” Tony asked. He did his best to look casual by leaning against the kitchen island.

“We had our-” Clint began, but then stopped. It hadn’t been a date, then, or at least he hadn’t thought that it was a date. “I don’t know,” he said, and felt a little stupid for it. Tony got out of his way as he swung the two plates around him, a bottle of coke in his other hand.

“You should let Steve know, he’s got a mini fridge in there,” Tony said, completely undaunted as Clint walked away. “He can keep things in it, and it’s not like a hotel, I’m not going to charge...” 

After they ate, Clint leaned back in his chair, because he had to ask. It had been gnawing at him since Tony had posed the question. “I wanted to ask you something,” Clint said, not sure how to phrase this, or why it was important, he was just...

“Anything,” Steve said, and he got that golden-retriever look that showed how eager he was to please Clint, and it made Clint feel bad.

“I just...you liked men, before, or..?”

“Oh,” Steve said, after Clint drew out each word slowly. Steve, in contrast to Clint, leaned forward. “Yeah, I did. I guess I’m bi, because..?” He bit at his lower lip, slightly, and glanced to the side. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, it’s...um, getting to know each other, right?” Steve said. “And we haven’t really...what about you?”

 _Right,_ Clint thought, and it made him wonder - when was the last time he had met someone new, talked to them? The life of the spy. Well, sniper for the spies. To be fair, it probably applied in seventy percent of the cases and worked as an excuse in the other thirty percent.

“I suppose I’m gay - when I was younger, I...but. I’ve only been in relationships with men,” Clint said.

Steve nodded, smiling slightly, and Clint wondered if it would be amusing to bring up what led to the question. _Eh why not?_ he thought. Steve seemed to find Tony amusing, now that they wee roommates. “It’s just, Tony sits down next to me, when I was heating the food, and asks how it feels to be the one to turn Captain America gay?” 

Steve almost did a spit take with his water. Then he said, “Oh, that’s funny.” Then he paused. “Well, you had to give that impression back then, you know? I think Bucky was the only one who knew...” Steve shrugged his shoulders, quickly drawn back into the past. Clint tried to imagine, but he didn’t really know much about the forties - he was just able to conjure up images of the dust bowl and of hooverville shanty towns, but that was the forties.

 _Yeah,_ Clint thought, there was no way they were going to salvage this one. He reached over and put a hand on Steve’s thigh.

“Sometimes, when we were out, you could tell, another fella - another guy, I mean - was looking, and caught me looking...I sort of fit this ideal, I guess, that they had. But nothing much ever came of it, I always kind of got nervous, because...” he waved his hand up and down his body. Clint nodded - he had seen the pictures from the medical file, and had read the doctors conclusions. He wondered how Steve had been so active, given everything.

“And Bucky...he always knew how to interrupt, you know? Wanted to make sure I took my date home, or...he was good about it, but I think he was a little embarrassed. Everyone was always calling me a faggot, so...” Steve shrugged.

Clint squeezed his thigh, not entirely sure what to say. “I’m sorry, I-”

“It’s OK,” Steve said. “I understand why you wanted to know, I think. I’ve been reading some stuff-”

“Please tell me it was on Wikipedia,” Clint said. Once he’d realized Steve was keen to figure out just about everything, Clint dredged the internet with a few common search terms and had been appalled at what came up.

Steve smiled at this, at least, and blushed. “I really like you,” he said.

 _Oh, fuck me,_ Clint thought, because verbalizing these things made it real, and for Clinton Francis Barton, this generally meant that they quickly imploded on him. “I do too,” he said, hoping that by not ascribing particular content he might avoid that particular fate. 

Steve nodded, then turned and smiled at him. “Kind of about that...” Clint arched an eyebrow, immediately knowing where this was going and deciding to give Steve some space to verbalize it himself. “I want to...I sort of looked up some things about penetration...” Clint did his best to not snort or grin, because there was something about Steve looking so earnest and saying penetration that was really too cute.

When Steve didn’t finish the thought, Clint made a little coughing sound, then said, “None of that is any good, you know, sometimes, on the Internet-”

“Yeah, I figured that,” Steve said. “I heard things, you know, I knew what some fellas were up to, you know-”

“Oh, right,” Clint said, because he, like most everyone else, did not think that sort of thing went on in the 1940s. 

“But I thought I’d just let you...” Steve quirked his lips off to the side and he shrugged. Clint darted in, put his hands on either side of Steve’s face, and kissed him hard. Steve seemed startled, for a moment, and then melted into the kiss, and Clint moved one hand around and into the soft fuzz at the back of Steve’s head. Steve made a soft moaning sound, and Clint stroked his other thumb down his neck. And maybe they did this too often, there were too many feelings and so one of them would stop talking and transition to this, but it seemed to work.

“Yeah?” Clint asked, when he pulled away and pressed his nose against Steve’s.

“Trust you more than the Internet,” Steve murmured, and looked down and smiled softly. 

“Now?” Clint asked, and Steve shrugged his shoulders.

“I appreciated...I wanted it to be like that,” Steve said. “But now, I want...” Clint nodded - he wasn’t going to probe further. Steve wasn’t a child. 

_Well,_ Clint thought, and he had to grin, _this is the part where I actually turn Captain America gay._

Clint cocked his head towards Steve’s bed, and Steve got up and sat down on the edge. Clint remained standing and traced his hand down the t-shirt that Steve was wearing, massaging against his pectoral and nipple. Steve widened his legs so that Clint could slip inside, and he kissed Steve eagerly. Steve’s tongue was deep and probing in his mouth, and it was Clint’s turn to moan. 

Steve reached forward and used his hand to bunch up Clint’s shirt and pull him closer. Clint raised his arms and shrugged a little to help Steve get the shirt off. Steve smiled, soft, genuine, and for a moment Clint felt a little embarrassed - he went through this almost every time, it seemed, as he and Steve undressed, and how could you not be with Steve’s body? 

This was quickly pushed from his mind when Steve leaned forward and tongued his nipple, then sucked on it - and Steve was very, very good with learning through experience, which was probably why, despite no formal training, he had been able to lead all of those troops- “Oh, God,” Clint said, as Steve grazed his teeth against his nipple.

Then Steve did something he hadn’t before and placed his hands on Clint’s ass and then lifted him and separated his legs like he was made out of glass. It should have been impossible from that angle and for a moment Clint was in Steve’s lap and then Steve was laying down and Clint was sprawled over him. “Steve-” he began, because he had never been handled like that, really, and there was something oddly appealing about it.

“Is that OK?” Steve asked, and Clint responded by pushing Steve’s shirt up. Steve lifted his back to aid in the removal and Clint leaned down further so he could kiss around Steve’s chest. They worked their way out of their pants and underwear, hands caressing each other, and at some point the bottle of lube appeared when Steve tossed it onto the bed. 

“You’re swell,” Steve said with a little bit of a shit eating grin as he palmed Clint’s erection. They were side by side at that point, and Clint worked some lube in his hand and reached forward for Steve’s cock and pumped it gently. He used his other hand to roll and massage Steve’s balls, then gently pressed into his prostate. “Clint, I don’t, I mean, I know there are-”

“Steve, shush,” Clint said, and then pressed his mouth over Steve’s to emphasis this. “I’m going to show you what I want you to do to me, OK?” 

“OK,” Steve said, and Clint took his free hand and moved it to Steve’s back. He started by just rubbing his ass, cupping it, as he continued to lightly pump Steve’s cock. Then he parted his ass with a finger and circled and pressed around the outside, waiting for Steve to relax against him. “That feels good,” Steve said, voice soft, and he leaned and kissed on Clint’s neck and on his collarbone.

“Nice and gentle,” Clint murmured, and slipped the one finger in slightly - giving Steve a moment to adjust before moving past the ring of muscle. He pressed in slowly, crooked his finger, and grazed Steve’s prostate. Steve yelped, then moaned, and Clint circled his finger to work things open. 

Steve tried to reach forward and grab Clint’s cock, and Clint bat his hand away as he slid the second finger in. “You’re going to make me come if you do that,” he said, because the idea of Steve opening him, Steve fucking him - yeah, he’d been thinking about it for some time. And yes, some of that time was in the shower.

“Really?” Steve asked.

“Steve,” Clint said, and met his eyes. Steve gave him a slight grin and then moaned when Clint hit him dead on. “Got it?”

“Oh, I thought...” Steve said, and his eyes widened. “Oh. Do to you.” Clint nodded. It was two pronged strategy - educate and acclimate. _There’s a slogan in there,_ Clint thought, but then focused on Steve.

“Mmm,” Clint said, and nuzzled into the crook of Steve’s shoulder. “I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Oh,” Steve said, and this, of all things, was what made him blush - Clint’s fingers were still in his ass and his hand was on his cock... Clint grinned at him, then slid his fingers out. “OK.” 

Clint reached and grabbed a pillow, figuring this would be easiest - and he flipped himself over and settled into it. Steve started his hands at Clint’s shoulder blades and worked down with his hands. He cupped Clint’s ass and massaged his fingers inward, and Clint moaned. His thumbs drifted between and then spread Clint. “Fuck,” Clint said. 

“Soon,” Steve murmured, and reverberated right to Clint’s dick. His finger was nimble, almost dancing down and then circling, and Clint shuddered at the thought. Then Steve moved in more carefully than Clint had - if that was possible - and leaned over so he could kiss him on his spine as he pressed his way in. “What does it..?”

“Round,” Clint said, resisting the urge to grind his hips into Steve’s finger and do it for him, or just get more friction for his cock. “Soft. Like - yes, that!” He hissed the last two words as Steve’s pad hit full on. “Not as hard as that-”

“Mmmm,” Steve murmured, and he kissed Clint again and followed the motions that Clint had. He was treating him like he was delicate, and Clint couldn’t object to that, not now - there was time. 

Steve removed his finger and then plunged two in, and he was making soft appreciative noises as he worked Clint open. “More,” Clint said. “Further.” It had been awhile, really, and he didn’t want to think about how long. 

Steve pushed in and out faster, and further apart, and Clint felt his whole body shudder as he started to graze Clint’s prostate. “Clint?” 

“Yeah,” Clint said, and he shifted himself up onto his elbows and looked back to catch Steve’s eye, and then he rolled over and adjusted himself onto the pillow.

“God, you look so good,” Steve said, and a slicked hand grasped Clint’s cock and slid up and down, almost experimentally.

“Steve,” Clint said, and he lifted a leg up and draped it over Steve’s shoulder, drawing him closer. Involuntarily, his eyes shifted down to Steve’s cock and he inhaled. 

“I’m not going to..?” Steve asked, glancing down at his own very erect cock, and Clint nodded and gave him his best reassuring grin.

It was not the time to vocalize how much he liked the feeling, the sensation that he was being pulled apart and somehow put back together at the same time, the feeling of being full and complete as well as being broken and emptied. 

Steve slid just the tip in, the adjusted himself, and then he pushed through the muscle and settled just inside of Clint. “Oh, God,” he said. “Oh, wow, you’re so...” Clint arched his hips up, allowing Steve to slip in just a little bit further. “Oh, fuck, Clint.” 

“More,” Clint said, and Steve flicked his hips and plunged a little deeper than Clint was prepared for and he gasped, but he met Steve’s eyes and it seemed like he had successfully sold it as pleasure. Steve was right in the center of him and making everything tingle, and it did feel good. Steve reached down and massaged Clint’s pectoral, and Clint moaned as Steve slid in further, and then, suddenly, bottomed out. “Oh, God, Steve, that’s so good,” Clint said, and it was, though it burned.

He ground his hips against Steve as he pulled out, and then plunged in again, and they soon found a slow rhythm that allowed Steve to slowly get him used to the sensation again. Steve made soft noises and was holding hard to Clint’s knee and shoulder - and for just a moment, Clint wondered if he was going to be able to hold back his strength, but then Clint assuaged himself, because Steve had before.

“Clint, fuck,” Steve said, and Clint bucked into him and then clenched, a little overwhelmed by everything. “You are so gorgeous.”

Clint moaned as Steve leaned down to kiss him, and it was the change in angle that changed everything for him. “Jesus, fuck,” Clint hissed. Steve’s cock worked against his prostate and hit it with each stroke inward. “That’s so good, don’t-” Steve clamped his mouth over Clint’s and then put a hand around Clint’s cock and began to stroke. 

Clint moaned before he was about to come and sank deeper into Steve and felt himself really open. “Oh, God,” Steve said, his mouth mostly against Clint’s cheek, and he slid nearly all the way out of Clint. It was the stroke in that did it, and Clint felt himself clench around Steve as he came in his hand, and then Steve was coming in him soon after.

“Fuck,” Clint managed, and Steve pulled himself out and rolled over so he was on his back and next to Clint. He had a look that Clint could only describe as starry-eyed, and he was perfect in that moment.

“Clint, I...that was really great,” Steve said.

“Swell?” Clint asked, and Steve flipped his hand up and tried to smack at Clint, but he was still in that post-orgasm glow. Clint grasped his wrist and then brought it to his mouth to kiss it.

“I like when you do that,” Steve said.

“Mmm?”

“Kiss my hand. It’s very gentlemanly.” 

“You’re ridiculous, Rogers,” Clint said, and Steve turned and gave him a lazy smile.


	14. Chapter 14

“Master Stark has asked if you would like to attend dinner this evening in the communal dining area, Captain Rogers,” Jarvis said. Clint had left an hour ago to meet Natasha to train and have dinner, and Steve was still laying in bed, naked. It had initially been a continuation of the afterglow, contemplating the rumpled sheets and what he’d - they’d - just done. But then it had transitioned to melancholy, where he was currently stuck, almost paralyzed by it. 

Steve wasn’t sure what it said, that Tony Stark was often critical to his overcoming his own inefficacy.

Bucky had always been telling him that sex wasn’t that big of a deal, and Steve supposed, now, that it probably did seem that way once you’d done it with a few girls you weren’t serious about. And Bucky had probably told him that to make him feel better and to bolster Steve’s decision to look for the right partner. Still, Steve couldn’t help but think about the opportunities he had with Peggy, and what that might have been like...not that it was Bucky’s fault he hadn’t. Mostly, he had wanted it to be right, to be romantic, he wanted the opportunity to treat her like she deserved to be treated. Maybe it was a blessing - if they had been intimate, it would be a lot worse, now.

Steve supposed, intellectually, it was good to have his first experience anchored in this century, with someone he really did care about. But he couldn’t help being plagued by what ifs...

“Sure,” Steve said, in response. “Do I have time to shower?” 

“Certainly, sir, dinner will be at seven,” Jarvis replied. 

Steve shook his head as he stepped into the shower - itself the size of the bathroom he and Bucky had shared with five other guys in their last apartment. He was talking to computers, now, sentient computers who could take care of everything he wanted. No flying cars, though. _I really should take that up with Tony,_ he thought.

“Steve,” Pepper said when he emerged. She was seated at the table wearing a suit and heels but looking completely worn - she was mainly charged with damage control after what had happened in China, and from what Steve understood, several Chinese investors had pulled their money out of Stark Industries and its clean energy initiatives. Steve didn’t quite get this, since Tony had thwarted a threat to the entire world.

“You look lovely, Ms - Pepper,” Steve said.

“That’s very kind of you to say,” she replied.

“Especially since you’re the one that’s glowing, Cap,” Tony said, smirking from behind the breakfast bar. He and Rhodey were arranging take out containers.

Steve paused, and wondered if he knew - well, he knew what Steve and Clint were up to, but did he _know?_ He shook his head, slightly, it didn’t matter. He’d agreed to live with Tony - rent free, too, apparently - there wasn’t much that could be done about this sort of thing. “Thanks,” he said.

He almost didn’t notice Bruce, perched at the corner of the breakfast bar with his tablet. Steve almost said hello, but it seemed that Bruce was intent on keeping up a veneer of deep concentration on what he was reading.

“Legolas isn’t joining us?” Tony asked.

“You’re recycling,” Steve replied. Tony cocked his head at him. “He’s sparring with Natasha, then they’re getting dinner.”

“That’s good, for a relationship, understanding the distinction about bros before hos - right, Rhodey?” Tony said, and Rhodey looked up and grinned at him.

“Oh, absolutely,” he replied, and Steve was not going to touch whatever that was, between them.

“Besides, I think Legolas is going to stick - it was my first one for him, I usually have a fondness for those...” Tony said, and he fanned out some forks on the counter.

“So I’m stuck with Capsicle?” Steve asked, and Bruce made a slight hissing sound and then pushed some hair out of his face when he realized everyone had noticed.

“We had an antagonistic relationship at that point,” Tony said to Bruce. “Not everyone instantly clicks.” He smiled at Bruce, who gave him a nervous smile back before looking at Rhodey. Steve decided he was going to have to stop trying to figure out whatever was going on there, because he was going to get a headache.

“So, what’s this?” he asked, approaching the food.

“Lebanese,” said Tony. “Great little place reopened right down the street, figured we should stick local, given...here, I’ll get you started.” Steve accepted the plate that Tony made for him with a smile, and then sat down at the table next to Pepper.

“Everything is going alright for you?” she asked after taking a small bite of bread she had smeared a spread on.

“Yes, thank you - it’s really nice here,” Steve said, though there were times when he missed his old apartment - mostly because of its associations with Clint. Would anyone really believe that they smoked a blunt one evening? “I appreciate the hospitality.”

“Everyone does,” Tony said, sitting down. He waved his hand around the table. “Rhodey’s supposed to be here on official business for one day. Still here.” 

“Do you not want people to...stay?” Bruce asked, and he pressed his lips together slightly. Tony recognized this, at least, and it was strange how he could be so obtuse about some people and yet had a perfect understanding of what Bruce was communicating.

“I’m living in a squatters paradise,” Tony said.

“That’s old school,” Bruce replied, and Tony grinned at him. 

“We’ve still got another day’s worth of work on the War Machine suit,” Rhodey replied. 

“Oh, God, work,” Tony said. “We can get Dummy to take care of it, I’m sure.”

“Dummy?” Steve asked, not entirely sure if he wanted to know.

“Oh, haven’t I taken you on a tour..?” Tony asked, arching his eyebrow. “Dummy and U are two robots I came up with when I was...seventeen, eighteen? Do basic tasks like making smoothies, using fire extinguishers when I’m on fire...”

“They’re his pets,” Pepper said. 

At the same time, Rhodey said, “They’re his children.”

“Ew, Rhodey,” said Tony. “I don’t really want to extrapolate on that.” 

Bruce chewed on his salad and arched an eyebrow at Steve, who just nodded his head. 

Pepper and Tony went up to the penthouse after dinner, and Rhodey made a quick and mumbled exit that seemed uncharacteristic of him, leaving Bruce and Steve. Bruce immediately went over to the bar and started to put alcohol together.

“This is going to be...um,” Steve said, and put a hand behind his head and scratched his neck. Bruce watched him with interest as he squirted something into his drink. “That has a soda fountain?”

“Looks like it does cola,” Bruce said, and prepared Steve a drink. “Captain?”

“I just, since you live across the hall, and everything, if you ever wanted to...talk..?” Steve felt hokey, saying it, but it was true - and he had this kind of relationship with a lot of the Commandos, but maybe it was because war made you forget all of your pretenses.

Bruce sat down on the couch, Steve’s drink in hand. Steve supposed that was something, and he sat at the end furthest from Bruce. “I appreciate that,” Bruce said, finally. “It’s been a long time since I’ve lived with people. I think I forgot how.” He took a long sip. “Not that it came naturally to me to begin with.” Steve nodded. “This is good, though. Especially the part about not having to worry about someone deciding to try and take me in. Or launch a drone attack on me.” 

Steve nodded, noting the Air Force connection. “I’m military,” he said.

“Ah,” Bruce replied. “Yes, in one way. Not in another.” He shrugged. “Besides, I thought you were on permanent loan to SHIELD.”

“I suppose,” Steve said, recalling his conversation with Director Fury. “In the Army records, I’m considered dead.” He shrugged his shoulders. Director Fury had handed him the file, but it had taken him a long time to read it. The pictures of himself, as he had been - it was like staring at a ghost, and yet sometimes he still saw himself that way. A glimpse in a mirror or reflective surface would take him out of it, but still, he’d spent more time in that body than his new one. 

“That’s probably a good thing,” Bruce said. 

Steve took a sip of his cola, not sure what to say. The difference between them was palpable - everyone had known what to say to Steve about his transformation and the consequences because the results had been ideal. But what if it had gone wrong? What would the military have done with him? 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said finally.

Bruce shrugged. “Not your fault, Steve. Besides, I...when we met, you were the one to put me at ease.” Color rose in Bruce’s cheeks from the admission, but Steve nodded. “Uh, you want to put something on TV or something?” 

Steve nodded, and let Bruce pick - he was surprised to be introduced to a comedy, and while there were pop culture jokes, there were plenty of things he could appreciate in the relationship amongst the family members. “If Howard had more kids...” Steve said, after a few episodes.

Bruce grinned at him - he’d been quietly getting drunk. “Instead of the suit, you think Tony would be tooling around on a stair car?” 

“More like a Segway,” Steve replied, and Bruce laughed at this - and it was hearty, full, and genuine. Steve smiled at him.

* *

Steve wasn’t paying much attention when he exited his counselor’s office at SHIELD headquarters. He also hadn’t really paid attention to what she said, even though he knew that he should - but it was even harder to talk to her now, since he didn’t really want to mention his relationship, and it was the new locus for his issues. Instead, he had interrupted her discussion on loss by saying, “Have you ever felt like you’re always going to be cold?” 

“Oh,” she said. “Well, I suppose that’s natural, given what happened. We can talk about that, if you like, there are ways we can do some cognitive therapy about your response to environmental stimuli...” Steve nodded along as she kept talking - she was a nice woman, and she seemed like she was interested in helping him. Steve just wondered how someone who worked with SHIELD agents could seem so obtuse about the things he was talking about.

“Everyone thinks you’re going to turn on the light in your room and I’ll be crouching on your dresser, ready to threaten your bodily integrity,” Natasha said, stopping as she came from the opposite direction.

“Huh?” Steve asked, and then processed what she said. “Oh.” 

“Let’s get some coffee, Captain,” Natasha said. 

They went to the same Starbucks he had gone to with Clint, that first day. Natasha was silent as stone as they walked, and stared at him for the first minute when they sat down with their drinks. Finally, she said, “He saved me twice, you know.” 

“I know that he decided not to execute his orders to...terminate you,” Steve replied, and Natasha sipped at her triple espresso drink. 

“He’s my friend,” she said, and Steve nodded, understanding that acutely. “Usually he has really bad taste in men, too.” 

“Oh,” Steve said, then, “that’s OK, I don’t need to-” Clint had only mentioned one ex in passing, and Steve didn’t feel the need to press. There was no point - what did he stand to gain? 

“I’m sorry,” Natasha said. “I meant that as a compliment.” 

“Thanks,” Steve said. Natasha gave him a slight smile. In a white shirt and jeans, she suddenly seemed to be just like any of the other young women at the coffee shop. Steve smiled back - strange how so many people wanted to be heroes, wanted to be exceptional, and yet all of the Avengers just wanted to be able to fade back into the crowd sometimes. Even Tony, even if he wouldn’t admit it. “Um, why would you be crouching on my dresser, threatening me, anyway?”

“Shovel talk,” Natasha said, and then smiled again. “Threatening the person dating your friend, comes from a TV show, they threatened to beat the other person to death with a shovel. Hence, shovel talk.”

“I see,” said Steve, and for a moment wondered if Natasha had ever beaten anyone to death with a shovel.

“See, that’s it,” she replied, and leaned in a little bit. “I perpetuate it, it’s...important, to have that image, with what I do. And we don’t have to get into the reasons for it.” Steve nodded. “But I’m not...well, actually, I don’t really know what I am. Not entirely that, anymore, though.” 

Steve had to wonder if there was just something about him that led people to feeling comfortable to confessing these things. Maybe he should be a SHIELD therapist. 

“I know that,” he replied. He was pretty sure he had seen the real Natasha a few times - when he had interrupted her talking with Barton, after his cognitive recalibration. Right before she had jumped onto his shield to get onto one of the alien flying scooters. 

“Thanks,” Natasha said. “Clint said Stark put in rain forest showers in the bathrooms.” 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “They’re nice - the bathtub has massage jets, too.” He smiled, slightly, remembering Clint getting overwhelmed by bubbles after he had put too much soap into the tub, wanting to relax after a strenuous sparring session where he had started teaching Steve capoeira and then they had two lengthy fights after. 

Natasha murmured something in Russian, and Steve took a sip of his hot chocolate. “You’re bunking with Banner?” 

“I see him every other day,” Steve replied. “Usually he’s in the lab, and I’m...uh.”

Natasha smiled at this. “You’re OK,” she said. 

“Oh?” Steve asked.

“Yes,” Natasha replied. “I think both of you are just about the same amount of fucked up.” Steve arched an eyebrow. “Nothing to do with each other, I mean. Fucked up separately.”

“Right,” he said. He understood people’s difficulty with Natasha - she could make things seem very natural, when in fact they were quite calculated. And the things that she did say, naturally, came across as calculated. “If you had time, I’d like if you came to work out, to spar, some time,” Steve said. Natasha cocked her head. “I’ve got a lot to learn,” Steve added.

“Sure,” Natasha replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's been reading, commenting, kudosing (?)...I really appreciate it. I never intended for this to get as long and involved, but I've loved writing it and glad you're enjoying it as well. I had an idea of an outline, when I started, but at this point I'm just letting the characters guide things, so we'll see where this goes.


	15. Chapter 15

_Hey,_ Clint’s text read, _You’re at SHIELD?_

 _Therapist,_ Steve replied. 

_How’s your day been?_ Clint replied, and Steve stared at the phone. 

_OK,_ replied Steve, and pressed enter before he asked Clint if he wanted to grab something to eat when Steve was done.

 _It’s about to get A LOT LESS OK_ came the response, and Steve pressed his lips together, wondering how Clint could possibly know that.

“Captain Rogers,” came as Steve attempted to work through the various permutations of what Clint meant. He looked up and smiled at Director Fury and carefully slipped his phone into his pocket. “My office?”

“Sir, I have an appointment with-” Steve began, but Director Fury merely turned and walked in the opposite direction, so Steve followed. He took a few steps before the phone vibrated in his pocket.

 _Stark ex Machina,_ Clint sent. _It gives, and it takes away._

 _Of course,_ Steve thought, because really, how else? At least he had some time to formulate how he was going to respond to this. 

“Captain, do you want to tell me what, exactly, you’re doing with Agent Barton?” Fury asked, as soon as he was able to close the door behind him.

“I feel like that might be an inappropriate inquiry from someone in your position, sir,” Steve replied, and had to really focus on not smiling.

“I’m mystified as to how you haven’t given consideration to fraternization issues,” Director Fury replied. “The Avengers barely managed to come together in New York-”

“Yes, sir, I remember,” Steve said, and he caught the familiar taste of bile in the back of his throat and that roll of nausea that came when he remembered what a failure he had been that day. “And with all due respect, sir, we’re not soldiers.” He experienced a little bit of relish in repeating Stark’s line. Maybe all of this was a bad influence on him.

Fury narrowed his eyes at him and then walked over to his desk and sat down. “I suppose I’ll have to mention, then, that one might argue that neither you or Agent Barton is coming from a position of emotional stability.”

Steve let this hang in the air for a moment. He couldn’t deny it, not when they danced around each other’s post traumatic stress each day. Yesterday they had each taken a turn at leading - Clint watched as Steve tried to knock one of the punching bags Tony had specifically engineered for him off of its mooring. Then he had approached him slowly, so Steve could see him, and gently put his hands on his shoulders. Later, Steve found Clint just leaning in the shower, steam filling the bathroom, a confused look on his face. “Let’s go for a walk,” he said, and Clint had nodded and stepped out. Steve had kissed him, and it seemed to bring Clint back from wherever he was. 

“I think, Director, that if emotional stability was a prerequisite for being in a relationship there would be something of a population crisis,” Steve replied. He was still standing.

Fury gave him a blank, hard stare. Then he inclined his head towards the chair. Steve sat. “So you’ve thought through the repercussions to the Initiative you’ve been given field command of?” 

Steve nodded - he had run through it all, when he had tried to figure out how he had felt about Clint, if Clint had felt the same way. There had been less careful analyses at various points during their relationship, thoughts that popped up like _oh shit what if I mess this up?_ but Steve pushed them away. He didn’t want to think like that. And he’d like to believe, if the worst happened, they could handle things like adults.

“You told Agent Hill you’re no longer in need of the Brooklyn apartment.”

“Yes sir,” Steve replied. “I appreciated it, but the accommodations at the Tower are more convenient, as the training space is right on the same level.” 

“We need to set up a time table for when Agent Romanov and Agent Kim - he’s our hand-to-hand instructor - can conduct the training modules you requested,” Fury replied. 

“Certainly, sir,” Steve said.

It was only after he left Director Fury’s office and headed for his therapist’s that he realized that whatever had just transpired between them may not have been entirely related to the Avengers. _The shovel talk?_ he thought, and then shook his head. 

* * 

“Look, it wasn’t...” began Tony, when Steve came back with Clint and some groceries. Tony was in the kitchen with Bruce, who was making another curry type dish. Steve really liked the aromas that came from Bruce’s cooking and experiencing the new spices.

“Is there enough?” Steve asked, ignoring Tony. It had taken Steve about five hours with him to understand that this was the best tactic to use with Tony in these circumstances.

“Oh, I planned on leftovers,” Bruce said. “You want to put the naan in the oven?” Steve nodded.

Clint leaned against the counter and gave Tony an excellent approximation of the hard stare that Fury had earlier leveled at Steve - except it was sort of more intimidating with the eye patch.

“I was over there, because I’m working on some upgrades to those little jets they’ve got, right? And Fury saunters over, asks how everything is going at the Tower-”

Clint put his hand up. “I think we can go from there.” _Something about love birds, no doubt,_ Steve thought. _Or some crass remark about our..._

“Anyway, sorry. I know Fury Explains it All isn’t exactly-”

“Weren’t you a little old, to be watching that?” Clint asked, as Steve opened the oven and put the tray of premade bread in to be warmed up.

“I was on a lot of drugs at the time, probably caught it when I was trying to watch _Ren and Stimpy,_ ” Tony replied, and he crossed his arms. “And what do you mean, old, last I checked-”

“Well,” Clint said, and quirked a smile at Tony. 

“You’re the same age?” Bruce asked, and furrowed his brow as he turned from the curry. Steve caught the pot when Bruce hit the handle as he turned. Bruce gave him a thankful look.

“Excellent moisturizing regimen,” Tony replied. “Not to mention regularly scheduled facials.” 

“No, I thought-” Bruce started, and then stopped, pressing his lips together and turning back towards the stove.

Clint grinned at Tony, then moved to the cupboard to get some plates. 

“Look, anyway,” said Tony. “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” Steve said. “He was going to find out sooner or later.” 

“Natasha would have told,” Tony said.

Clint turned from the breakfast bar, where he had set out the plates, and narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Well, doesn’t she tell Fury everything?” 

“No,” Clint said,, “Well, just about you, that one time. And only because that was her job.” Tony crossed his arms over his chest, and it caused his shirt to pull a little tighter over the arc reactor. Sometimes it surprised to Steve, to realize it was there - and then made him think of what Tony had gone through, to get it. To have to have it.

“She’s not Natalie Rushman anymore,” Steve said, keeping his voice calm. 

“She’s a spy,” Tony said, though he seemed to realize that he’d stepped into a field littered with land mines. “The naan is going to burn, Bruce, and that’s the best part.” 

There was a palpable silence amongst them as Bruce set the curry down at the bar and they took their seats, Tony opting to sit on the breakfast bar so he could face all of them like a panel. 

“What are you doing to the Quinjets, anyway?” Clint asked. 

“Just adjusting the stabilizers using something I developed for the suit,” Tony said. “To better allow them to come to a quick halt and then maneuver immediately out of it.” 

“That would be good,” Clint said. “Might have avoided us crashing into Bryant Park.” 

“Oh,” Steve said. “Is that where we crashed?” He had read an article in the newspaper that morning about how the city wasn’t sure if it would be able to repair the damage for the winter ice skating rink there. It had made Steve think, at the time, about how he had never been ice skating before - too cold, too slippery, but mostly too cold, because it burned his lungs...

“Yeah, pretty sure,” Clint said. “I mean, I wasn’t paying too much attention. Looks like fashion week is out of luck.”

“They moved up to the Lincoln Center,” Tony replied, eating some of his curry. “What? Pepper goes. Maybe she’ll take Natasha, from now on. Maybe they can go back to being best friends.” 

Steve liked how he slipped Natasha back in there, and he sighed. Tony always tried to act like he didn’t care. Clint glanced over at Steve and rolled his eyes.

“Do you two need to have some mediation therapy?” Clint asked. “Because I can get that scheduled.”

Tony furrowed his brow for a moment, and Steve had to pick up his piece of bread to hide how he was smiling at Clint’s remark - he and Tony were well matched, most times, but Clint spoke more slowly and deliberately so people seemed to miss when he was saying something snarky.

“SHIELD has that?” Tony asked, finally.

“They have all kinds of counseling,” Clint replied. Steve wondered if Tony managed to get out of it because they wanted to spare the counselor.

“I suppose that’s important,” Tony replied. “You want to make sure all your spies and killers-”

“Not everyone-” Steve interrupted.

“Oh, right, there is Galaga Guy. I wonder how he’s doing?” Tony asked, and glanced over at Bruce, who was studying his curry pretty intently. 

Clint picked his phone out of his pocket and quickly typed something before putting it back. Tony arched an eyebrow at him. “What, I’m supposed to..?” Then he shook his head. “Natasha’s coming over. We’re going to work on hand to hand.”

“And you’re trying to act like I’m being unreasonable and paranoid,” Tony said, and crossed his arms. “Why do you need hand to hand, anyway? How many times did you punch Hitler?” 

Steve remembered how they had all looked, then, when he had opened the cage door for them - Dum Dum, Farnsworth, Morita...he wondered how many of them had taken him seriously, the way that he said it. He had been so concerned about Bucky-

Steve glanced down at his plate and inhaled. It was one of the useful things he had got from his therapy sessions - breath regulation, focus only on the sensory inputs around him at the time, like the smell of the curry, the light coming in from the window, the way that Clint shifted his foot over so that it was touching his own.

“Why make a new version of your suit every twenty minutes?” Clint asked, and Steve inhaled again. 

* *

“Did he give you that glare?” Clint asked, emerging from the shower in Steve’s room after they had sparred with Natasha. She had been intercepted, coming out of the gym, by Tony. Apparently she and Clint had devised a form of communication between one another based on nods and glances - she had stayed to talk with Tony, while Clint had put his hand on Steve’s lower back and guided him towards the bedroom. 

“I think so. At least a variation thereof,” Steve replied. 

“But he didn’t give you some whole speech about compromising the Initiative, making poor choices, and not thinking with your dick?” Clint asked. The towel around his waist was precariously draped, and Steve frowned. 

“But he did to you?”

“Standard Fury lecture, really,” Clint said.

“You have issues, thinking with your dick?” Steve asked, cocking his head slightly. 

“Now, yes,” Clint replied, and Steve grinned and put his arms behind him so he could lay back on the bed. He was going to have to thank Natasha later, he decided. 

Clint walked over, and Steve reached and peeled his towel off. His cock was hard, and Steve quirked a grin before he leaned forward, put a hand on Clint’s hip, and circled his tongue around the tip. “Oh, fuck, Steve,” Clint said, and he threaded his fingers through Steve’s hair and tugged him a little closer. 

Steve liked the slightly rough element to things, or maybe it was just the way Clint’s body worked and his muscles bulged. Steve ran a hand down his thigh, then squeezed at Clint’s ass before he took the tip of his cock into his mouth. He moved down slowly, using his tongue and flicking it around, and he cupped Clint’s balls when he got down to the root. Clint moaned.

The first time Steve had done this, he had been apprehensive, but he had wanted to give Clint something unexpected. Now, he was much more comfortable - he knew what Clint liked, what drove him crazy, and how to take him right to the edge. He pursed his lips around the tip and stuck his tongue into the tip, then moved up and down quickly over the small, sensitive head. Clint’s fingers tensed in his hair. “Steve, you keep that up-”

Steve sucked Clint back down and hummed. “Right,” Clint said. “Carry on, then.” Steve moved his thumb back and massaged the sensitive area behind Clint's balls and had to grin at the sound that came out of Clint when he did that. He used his other hand to give Clint’s ass a squeeze in appreciation. 

“Oh, fuck, Steve, I’m...” Clint began, and Steve still hadn’t - but it couldn’t be that complicated, especially now that he had a good sense of when Clint was going to come. So he kept his mouth on Clint, even as Clint made another protesting sound, and he increased his pace but lightened the pressure of his lips. 

When Clint came, Steve mimicked what had worked when he was on the receiving end - he moved lightly, squeezing Clint’s ass again and doing his best to take down all of Clint’s come. It was warm, and salty, but definitely not unpleasant. He held Clint in his mouth through to the end, and then pulled off and kissed him right next to his cock. 

“Oh, God, Steve,” Clint said, and he flopped down onto the bed. Steve laid back himself and smiled at Clint, then kissed him. “Well.” 

“I should shower,” Steve said. “You told Natasha we’d go for dinner.”

“I did,” Clint said, slowly, and Steve hopped up, picked Clint’s discarded towel up, and headed into the bathroom. Clint made a wolf whistle just as Steve closed the door.


	16. Chapter 16

Clint was waiting for Steve to broach the subject after their dinner date with Natasha. He figured that Steve’s sense propriety would make him wait until about the twelve hour mark but that Steve’s innate curiosity, which he would disguise as his desire to be a good leader and know about his team, would win out before the thirty-six hour mark. Steve made it to just one hour before a full twenty-four.

“So...” Steve said, and Clint could tell it was coming, because his posture was more rigid.

“Mmm?” Clint asked, handing Steve his tub of Ben & Jerry’s - Clint had been appalled to find that Steve didn’t like ice cream all that much and then had begrudgingly admitted this was because he hadn’t had any since before the War. The _the_ War. Clint had gone with Cookie Dough - nothing too shocking, but hopefully conveying something that the twenty-first century could offer.

Steve contemplated his tub and Clint sat next to him. He was tempted to do something juvenile - silly, really - like shove a spoon of ice cream in Steve’s face for him to lick, but then Steve asked it. “You were sent to assassinate Natasha?” 

Clint set his ice cream on the side table, and it was fine, he really didn’t like it until it was melted anyway. “Yes,” he said. “To say she was a security concern would be...” 

“But you didn’t,” Steve said.

“No,” Clint replied, and since he’d seen the question formulate in Steve’s head while they were at dinner, he’d tried to figure out an adequate way to explain why he had made the call that he had. He remembered that encounter with Natasha vividly, though now it was more like he was watching a movie than reliving it. “No, it...it just seemed like such a waste.” 

He’d known about the Black Widow for some time - she was hard to avoid, around SHIELD, and he’d studied the film they had and everything they knew on her once Fury had given him the assignment. He’d known her as well as anyone could but the first thought he had when he had her within his crosshairs was, _Christ, she’s young._ She should have been in college, just celebrating the fact that she could legally drink with her sorority sisters. 

He knew that wouldn’t be enough for Steve, though - and before last night, he would have questioned sharing what had actually changed his mind. But Steve and Natasha had actually got along, basically to a relieving degree. Not that he had been too worried about it, but it was always awkward when you took your new boyfriend on a date with your friend. It had to go well, or else you were going to have to reorganize and rearrange some things - though, eventually, one was going to win out over the other. Clint had always operated under the assumption that bros did, indeed, come before hos. Well, he amended, ho, now. But Steve’s position in his life sort of complicated things and made Clint understand how someone might violate that universal maxim. 

“I never had an opportunity for a satisfying, clean shot,” Clint said. “It was the most boring cat and mouse game, and when I was finally able to corner her in that alley, I thought that she was letting me...” he paused and glanced down at his lap. “She was so afraid.” He had expected a true believer, a little soldier to the end, ready to clench her jaw and die and spit in his face as she went down. 

“Oh,” Steve said, and his jaw was firm and considered and very...heroic, really, and Clint had to look down again but it was to keep himself from smiling. “When did you become friends?” 

“I don’t know,” Clint said. “Fury figured, since I was the one to bring her in, I was going to get stuck with her, so...I was there from the beginning. It just sort of happened. After several years.” 

Steve nodded, and Clint almost wanted to add something more, especially after seeing how Steve watched him and Natasha at the restaurant. He knew what that particular far away look meant - Steve was back in Brooklyn, with Bucky, passing a beer amongst them that was wrapped in brown paper, laughing about some scrap they’d just got out of. 

Steve took a spoonful of ice cream before Clint could formulate what would be appropriate - and his eyes widened. “Oh,” he said. “I see.” 

“Look, I get it,” Clint said. “I’ve had bad homemade ice cream, before, but it couldn’t have been - I mean, apple pie and ice cream, right?”

“Well,” Steve said. “I guess there were just always other sweets I’d rather have...and I didn’t have, you know, unlimited access. Like today.” There was some slight disdain in his voice, and Clint actually liked when Steve acted like someone who had grown up when he did. 

“Sweets?” Clint asked, like a reflex - there were still some phrases that struck him, even though he had largely got used to Steve’s anachronisms. He knew he shouldn’t, he knew how it jarred Steve.

“I like chocolate,” Steve said, completely serious, and Clint smiled at him. “What?” He paused. “Oh...you don’t say that, anymore?” He looked a little wounded, and Clint reached over and squeezed his knee. It was getting better, he thought, though it was always going to be an open wound - but at least Steve wasn’t throwing up anymore. As far as Clint knew, at least.

Steve got that distant look again, and then he pulled his jaw tight as he brought himself back into focus. Clint leaned into him a little, not entirely sure what to say. “It...that first month, months, it was so raw,” Steve said. “Everything was like salt in the wound. But...” he glanced over at Clint, and almost looked a little nervous. _Relax, soldier,_ Clint thought. _I’m almost forty and completely emotionally stunted, even my relationships could best be described as flings._ “This makes it easier,” Steve said, finally. 

“That’s good,” Clint said.

Steve nodded, and went back to his ice cream. Their intention was to watch a movie. “When Bucky and I first met, we hated each other - he’d been there a few years already, and he was bitter. Kind of mean, actually, and I said something to him one day - I don’t remember what, and he called me a smart-ass and got me right in the jaw. I fell back into the wall and spit out blood and then I told him to hit me again, and he did. And then he offered me half a can of beer he’d stolen from the store at the corner, and we went outside to the roof and drank it ‘til one of the nuns came shouting for us because we were late for dinner. They were going to give us the switch till they saw me - the bruise was pretty dark, by then - and I told them Bucky had defended me from some bully and...” Steve shrugged.

It was the longest story Clint had ever heard from Steve about the past. Everything he knew came from a manilla folder or what he’d managed to put together in bits and pieces. 

“This would be the moment when one of us says something sappy,” Steve added, and stuck his spoon into his ice cream.

“Yeah, I picked up on that,” Clint said, and quirked a smile at him. 

* * 

Clint had thought that it would be another quiet night - and who knew, that living at Tony Stark’s Tower for Orphaned Heroes would be quieter than SHIELD? But there was always some agent shouting too loud on the phone to someone on the other side of the world, six different conflicting television programs, people laughing when they ran into each other in the hallway, asking, Oh, did you just get back from Jakarta? You would think, top secret shadowy government agency, they’d get thicker walls in the barracks...but no, it seemed espionage was encouraged even when you were off work.

Steve ate two tubs of ice cream as they watched the movie, and Clint had got him Milk and Cookies to advance his taste profile a little. Steve had blushed when Clint got him the second tub, but really - if Clint had the metabolism that Steve did he would be eating large quantities of ice cream all day. They watched a movie that Steve was curious about, and just when it was over and Clint was moving in to kiss Steve there was an explosion from somewhere below them.

“Invasion?” Clint asked, instinctively reaching to his right where he usually kept his kit when he was on a mission. 

“Science?” Steve asked, and Clint shook his head as both darted for their respective weapons. They were, at least, wearing sweats, so there wouldn’t be any pictures about them on TMZ or Gawker the next morning repelling some crime syndicate in their boxer briefs and slippers. 

“JARVIS?” Steve asked, once he had his shield, but the A.I. didn’t respond. For a moment, Clint felt a sharp jab to the center of his chest, a god - an alien, just an alien, or inter-dimensional being, depending - whispering, and then Steve was behind him, and Clint could feel his posture even though they weren’t touching. He was all Captain. “Clint.” The fact that he didn’t use Clint’s codename made it more stern, pulled him back to where he needed to be.

“I’ve got my phone, I can notify Natasha,” Clint said, and he texted the three number code they had agreed on as they took the stairs. Steve briefly inspected each floor until they got to the third one above them. There was a distinct smell of smoke in the air. It was not surprising to find it was the first floor of lab equipment.

Clint followed behind Steve, looking for any signs of an incursion - but it just seemed like a fire, though half the time, that was the trick. “Not just a fire,” he said, mostly to himself, because he was not used to doing these kinds of things with a partner.

“Yeah, but what is that smell?” Steve asked.

“Sulfur?” Clint said, though he wasn’t sure. “Nothing distinctly dangerous.” 

“You can smell dangerous?” Steve asked, and Clint felt a twitch right at the tip of his cock because, _my, Captain Rogers, aren’t you sassy?_ Clint wished Steve was in the uniform - he hadn’t had a chance to take Steve out of that yet. Though just as he was about to form a decent fantasy he remembered Coulson, running his hands over some of the seeming, so proud of the modifications he’d made...if Coulson came back from the dead, and somewhere, deep down, Clint thought he just might - Clint admitting that he was fucking Captain America probably would kill him. _Focus, Barton!_ he said to himself, and shook his head slightly. 

“Science.” They said it together once they got to the glass doors that had presumably closed off the lab as a safety protocol. Steve rolled his eyes, then rapped on the glass. The lab appeared to be filled with smoke, and the two of them seemed to come to the conclusion at the same time - if Bruce was in danger, they were going to really have to deal with _science._

Steve rapped again, and then he stepped back to the other side of the wall and flung the shield at it. Clint crouched immediately, covering his head. “Fuck, Cap,” he said. “Warn a guy.” He kicked at some of the broken glass as he stood up. “I had an arrow that could have broke that with a lot less mess.”

“Oh,” Steve said, and then nodded at him. “Right.” 

Clint followed behind him as they plunged into the smoke, and he was relieved that he wasn’t really choking on it - annoying, but it didn’t seem to be the result of a fire. The sulphur smell was a little thicker, and _what the hell were those two assholes trying to do?_ he thought, _a Dark Mass? Leave it to Tony Stark to summon Satan._ Clint waved his hand in front of him and coughed. _Maybe Stark was Satan...they had the same penchant for facial hair-_ “Is there some kind of hallucinogen in this?” he shouted.

“Uh, mild?” Bruce replied, probably twenty feet to Clint’s right. He kept tight against Steve as they walked in that direction. Clint kept his bow pointed in front of him, not wanting to wind up on the wrong end of any of Tony’s inventions, including those robots. That might be painful. In ways Clint did not want things to be painful.

“So you were just casually messing around with mild hallucinogens?” Steve asked, apparently unaffected. 

The smoke was beginning to clear, and both Bruce and Tony were covered in soot and debris from whatever had exploded on them. Tony was a bit wild eyed - he had probably inhaled a good dose of whatever the stuff was - and Bruce appeared incredibly apologetic. _Which was good,_ Clint thought. _One to take care each of us._

“To be fair, we got it from SHIELD,” Tony said. He was wearing a thin black tank that made the glow of the arc reactor almost surreal in the dissipating smoke. _Talk with Natasha and Steve when sober about possibility of Stark as antichrist,_ Clint added, though he was definitely not in the habit of making notes to himself. _Or high-level but still very annoying hell demon._ He giggled. 

Steve pat his shoulder and then leaned into the space between Tony and Bruce. “Oh, hey, Cap, you might not want-” Bruce began, and then Steve coughed.

“What the hell is that?” Steve asked, and Clint was finally able to make out what had exploded between Steve and Tony. He almost groaned.

“Arrow,” Bruce said. “Smoke screen arrow that, uh, disables the crowd by making them a little silly, and uh - explodes.”

“Magic arrow,” Tony said. 

“It’s an illusion, Tony, an illusion,” Steve said, drawing the word illusion out in a way that struck Clint as oddly familiar - though he couldn’t quite place it. Steve giggled, and then shook his head. _Looks like his refractory period really is that good,_ Clint thought, as Steve’s face returned to stern and disappointed. He seemed a bit taken aback that he had made a joke.

“Did you just make a reference?” Tony asked, narrowing his eyes and peering right into Steve’s face. 

“I believe the reference was to _Arrested Development,_ sir,” JARVIS said.

“Glad to see you’re back with us, J,” Tony said. 

“You were making me explosive magic arrows?” Clint asked, leaning back against one of the work benches. He was just beginning to feel his head clear. 

“Well,” Bruce said, and scratched the back of his head. “We thought it might be more...uh, you know...than some other methods of subduing crowds.”

“By making them stoned?” Steve asked.

“You do not support fun, you know that, Captain?” Tony asked, turning to start typing on his computer - presumably to get some diagnostics to see exactly how their minor arrow debacle had managed to take JARVIS down. 

“I support fun,” Steve said. “I got stoned, once.” He crossed his arms over his chest, and Clint did his best to hide his grin - Tony seemed taken aback by this, and Bruce just raised his eyebrows. So maybe not that great of a refractory period.

“What, when you were toy sized?” Tony asked.

“No, Steve’s stoner neighbor locked himself out of his apartment, and I picked the lock, so he paid us with a pretty sweet blunt,” Clint said, as casually he could manage. 

“I told you he had sweet weed,” Tony said, to Bruce, and then narrowed his eyes at Steve again. “You would think, with the metabolism - I mean, how quick did that hallucinogenic move through you?”

“Very,” Steve said, and then a slow smile spread across his face.

“Oh, God, we’ve discovered his kryptonite,” said Tony, and he rubbed his hands together.

“Gentlemen?” Pepper called, presumably from the safety of the hallway, and sounding as though she was probably also doing the smart thing and wearing some sort of face make. “You want to step out of the contaminated zone?”

“We could do that,” Tony yelled back, and looked sheepish. “Pepper is yelling at us.” 

“I think she’s just being sensible,” Clint said.

“Everyone always takes Pepper’s side,” Tony said, to Bruce. 

“She is fairly sensible,” Bruce said. Tony shook his head and appeared to be chewing at the inside of his cheek.

* * 

“So, just to recap,” Clint said, “Tony and Bruce were trying to develop some sort of exploding arrows that emit hallucinogen drenched smoke.”

“And they definitely exploded,” Steve said, drying his hair. Pepper had immediately ushered all of them to the next lab over where there was a chemical hazards shower for them to remove any potential contaminants. Clint was a little relieved, given the properties of the hallucinogen, that there were single stalls.

“I don’t like it when people talk about me when I’m not there,” Tony said, to Bruce, and he just pinched the bridge of his nose and looked at Pepper with the standard apologetic look he seemed to have in these situations. It was definitely making Clint question how responsible Bruce was for the whole situation. 

“I just want to know,” Pepper said, clearly amused to be surrounded by all four of them in terry cloth robes, “how the arrow exploded? Did it just blow up, or were you doing something you weren’t supposed to?” 

“Really, Pepper?” Tony asked.

“Yes, really,” Pepper replied - and it was the same thing Clint had said to Steve, earlier, about keeping an eye on Tony and Bruce. If he were Pepper, he certainly wouldn’t want Tony - already clearly lacking in a few natural survival instincts, and, yes, Clint knew he had no room to criticize, there - hanging out with Dr. Hulk. 

“We were attempting to recalibrate the explosion mechanism,” Bruce said.

“Thought it might be more useful for Robin Hood to be able to make them explode when he wanted them to, rather than when he launched them,” Tony said. 

“That could just be unnecessarily complicated,” Steve said. Tony rolled his eyes slightly, though Steve caught it. “Well, presumably you don’t just shoot one arrow in every circumstance and just wait around...” 

“Well you could program it to go off-”

“Have you watched, when he was shooting, or did you just need an excuse to-” Steve interrupted, but Tony got in on top of him.

“No, I’m not the one whose interested in those bulging, flexing biceps,” Tony said. 

This, at least, seemed to draw then necessary breathing space they all needed before Pepper sighed. “We had this discussion, when you decided to make the modifications to the Tower,” Pepper said. Clint tried to determine if she was using her annoyed girlfriend voice or annoyed CEO voice - it was difficult. Not to mention, that had to have been a fairly good conversation. _But, Pepper, I want to move the super heroes into my Tower! I promise I won’t blow it up!_

“Sorry,” Tony murmured, and then arched an eyebrow at Bruce - who had a very good _who, me?_ expression.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt all your sleep,” Bruce murmured. Clint looked down at his wrist, where his watch would have been - he must have legitimately lost track of time, then, since he and Steve were nowhere near sleep when this distraction came through. He needed to stop doing this. He was supposed to take his Ambien around the same time every night so he could eventually ween himself off of it - the later portion, of course, what SHIELD medical told them every time they gave them a decent prescription medication.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the effort, but...not Inspector Gadget,” Clint said. 

“Good one,” Tony said, almost under his breath. “And besides, Bruce, we clearly didn’t interrupt their sleep, they turned up in their matching SHIELD track uniforms which, good job, by the way, would have not made Fury’s morning to wake up to you fighting evil naked - though I imagine you could use your dick, couldn’t you, Captain? I saw how you handled Zeus with your bare hands-”

“You’re babbling,” Pepper said. “Time for bed, Tony.” He nodded, and almost seemed relieved to have another person make the decision for him. Clint had resigned himself to the fact that he was never going to fully understand Tony Stark, given how quickly he could vacillate. Pepper draped her arm around him once he got close to her, leaving Clint, Bruce, and Steve to stare at one another. 

“Yeah,” Bruce said, once Pepper and Tony stepped into one of the elevators. “So.”

“Dr. Banner, I fully suspect that you’re responsible for the hallucinogenic idea,” Steve replied - voice as displeased and stern as he had sounded when he was admonishing Stark on the Helicarrier. Clint had listened to that tape more than a few times trying to figure out just when Loki’s influence seeped in.

There was a moment of thick silence after Steve’s comment, the Bruce laughed and pointed a finger up at Steve. “You are good,” he said, tone slightly admiring. He didn’t wait for Clint and Steve, he just quickly stepped into his own elevator.


	17. Chapter 17

Clint didn’t really want to talk about it, but he could tell that Steve did. He had also told Steve he didn’t need to accompany him for the evaluation, but he knew that he wasn’t going to be able to deter Steve. When Steve thought something was the right thing to do....Clint was pretty sure that this was something that was going to bite Steve in the ass at some point, but that no one could do anything to prevent it. He wished he had similar insight into his own tragic failings.

“I’m good,” he said, and Steve stood up. He’d been waiting outside of the therapists office, and unlike other places where they tried to keep your identity confidential, everyone just sort of acknowledged you were going to wind up in suite 403 at some point or another. “I’ve been downgraded from bugfuck crazy to just batshit crazy.”

Steve frowned at this, and took a step towards Clint. He looked like he wanted to hug him, and Clint glanced upwards towards the cameras that were likely embedded in the ceiling and in the corners. Fury knowing was a little different than all of SHIELD knowing. 

“You want coffee?” 

“Sure,” Clint said. He remembered when he had first stumbled on Steve and made a similar offer - he had no idea that it would go like this. Well, there had been a fantasy, but there was a reason he had categorized it like that.

“So this is good, right?” Steve asked, once they were outside of SHIELD.

“I’d like to be competent to do my job,” Clint replied, and he had to look at Steve’s face to see what he was asking. “Yeah,” he said. “I want to get back.” 

“I know,” Steve said, and Clint had to wonder why they hadn’t integrated him into SHIELD, considering they were giving him paychecks and training him - was it a matter of indoctrination? Or did Fury think that space aliens were going to attack every month or so, necessitating the Avengers on full alert? Because they certainly weren’t deploying them to deal with meglomaniac global terrorists, much as Clint thought Tony might have appreciated the help. 

“Well, you know, you’re friends now, right?” Clint said. “Plus we’ve got the suggestion box.” Steve smiled at this and then held the door for Clint when they got to the Starbucks. Clint glanced back at the facade of the SHIELD office building and then shrugged his shoulders. Not that he really cared. And, honestly, it would probably be better to have a new line of gossip out about him, and speculation about whether he’d held onto Loki’s staff to mind control Steve into dating him was better than what was circulating before. 

“Triple espresso, with vanilla, and a chocolate chip cookie,” Steve said, and Clint was impressed - though he had to wonder when, exactly, Steve had figured out how to speak Starbucks. “And a nonfat chai.” And when Steve had decided he was going to order for Clint.

The cashier just smiled at them, though, and handed Steve a chocolate chip cookie. “What if I wanted a cookie?” Clint asked.

“I presumed you’d want to keep yourself in peak physical condition, now,” Steve replied, and Clint thought that he was serious until Steve broke the cookie in half. “This is good, Clint, I didn’t mean to...”

“No, I get it,” Clint said. “You never want your...” he stopped, just in time, because he realized that even though this had been going on for awhile, now - even though Steve was fucking him several times a week _and_ taking him to dinner - they hadn’t really qualified things.

“What?” Steve asked, and then flushed. Clint loved when color rose in his cheeks like that. “Oh. You mean...well, what? Because I don’t know what the words are.” 

“I guess boyfriend,” Clint said, and took their drinks from the barista, who seemed amused by their conversation. “Partner, uh, life mate-”

“I don’t think anyone refers to themselves as life mates,” Steve said, choosing one of the little tables in the corner that offered a good look at the tourist hell that was Times Square - though, good sign, that it was actually becoming a tourist hell again. Between terrorists and alien terrorists, Clint got their trepidation. If he didn’t live here, the City would not be high on his list of places to travel to.

“I think some people just might, Steve,” Clint said. “Sorry if that doesn’t inspire too much confidence in humanity these days.” He raised his eyebrows. 

“Well, I guess that’s their thing,” Steve said, and Clint smiled. Weren’t they cute and functional? 

* * 

Clint really liked how eager Steve was - _this is what you get, dating a younger man,_ he told himself. He really liked how, once they were in Steve’s bedroom, he would get Clint up against the nearest wall and kiss him, hard. Also how he would reach down and grope Clint’s ass, squeeze it, massage it, act like each time he was discovering Clint had one for the first time.

“Steve, that’s-” Clint began, and then found both of Steve’s hands lifting him into the air. Instinctively he wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist. Steve had lofted him like he had hollow bones. Once Clint had his legs around him he moved his arms up to Clint’s back, and then moved another up so that it was on the back of his neck. “Fuck, Steve.” 

“Mmm?” Steve asked, and Clint had never really felt delicate like this, before. Even if he’d been shorter than his partners, he was usually much stronger. “You’re OK?”

“I’m very OK,” Clint said, because who hadn’t thought about being manhandled every now and again? 

Steve thrust his hips into Clint, his cock rubbing into Clint’s. Both of them moaned together, and then Steve turned and carried Clint over to the bed. Clint gripped into Steve’s shoulders, feeling the flex of his muscles, the thickness of them... “Fuck, Steve, I-” he said, and kissed him as Steve stood over the bed and gently set him onto the mattress. 

Steve stood up straight, allowing Clint a good, full view of him as he took his shirt off, and Clint took his own off so that when Steve climbed over top of him their was the same amount of skin contact. Clint’s cock was incredibly hard, and Steve was basically rutting into him as they kissed, sometimes against Clint’s cock and sometimes against Clint’s thigh, and it wasn’t that Clint was fussed. “Steve, you need...” 

Steve pushed himself up so he was looking down at Clint, and Clint smiled at him. “You keep doing that, I’m not going to make it.” 

“Maybe I don’t want you to?” Steve said, and Clint reached a hand up and twisted Steve’s nipple so that Steve grinned.

“I’m not the one with the two minute refractory period,” Clint said. “And I’d like...” He ran his hand down Steve’s abdomen and clutched at his cock. 

“Oh,” Steve said. 

“Oh?” Clint asked, not sure if it was because Steve had some sort of plan and he was pouting, a little bit, or if there was something else Clint had done to disappoint him, especially since Steve rolled over so that he was laying on his side next to Clint.

“Well, it’s just...” Steve said, and he bit at his bottom lip. “Um.” Clint ran his hand through Steve’s hair, immediately sensing that the problem was nerves, and there was only one thing that he knew of that could make him feel that way. Clint took his other hand and undid the button on Steve’s pants and then pushed his hand in and clutched at Steve’s cock. “Well, I thought, I’d you to fuck me?” Steve said finally.

Clint’s grin intensified, and he slid himself out of his own pants. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Oh,” Steve said. “I guess I just thought...sometimes, certain fellas, and you always seem to...”

“Well,” Clint said, and he grazed his lips across Steve’s cheek. “I quite like both, honestly - and I really like when you...” He sucked at Steve’s ear lobe, then flicked at it with his tongue. 

“Oh, good,” Steve said, and he was out of his pants and back on top of Clint, eyes wide and smiling softly. Clint knew that Steve had probably planned this to coincide with his reinstatement hearing. He didn’t care - he appreciated the gesture, knew that Steve’s heart was in the right place, and that Steve knew that he would have needed something to get him out of his own headspace. 

And he knew Steve wanted it, because Clint hadn’t even mentioned it to him. He’d fingered Steve, slightly, a few times, but had never pushed it, figuring that Steve would broach things when he was ready. 

He put his hands against Steve’s shoulders and pressed, and Steve rolled over onto his back so that Clint could get on top of him. He put two pillows underneath him and then kissed his way down his torso, slowly, lavishing attention on all of the indentions of his muscles and all of the sensitive spots he knew Steve had - and there were a lot of them, thanks, super soldier serum! 

Clint fondled Steve’s balls first, then took him halfway into his mouth. Steve gasped. Clint wasn’t sure what he had expected. If he was going to be the one to fuck Steve Rogers for the first time, he was damn well sure he was going to make it good. He held a hand out and grinned around Steve’s cock when Steve placed the lube in it. 

Clint used his hand to guide Steve to the position he needed him in while still keeping the tip of his cock in his mouth. He ran his finger up and down the crease in Steve’s ass several times, waiting for him to relax, and then swirled around and pressed at the center. “Clint, please,” Steve said. “You’ve done it before.” 

“Mmm,” Clint said onto Steve’s cock, but still only put his finger in to the first knuckle. Steve still gasped - he always did, and it was adorable - and Clint moved into him slowly, deeper than he had before. Steve squirmed against him, and Clint remembered his first time and how strange it had felt even though his partner had been gentle. “You let me know..?” he said, moving in and out slowly.

“Yup,” Steve said, and Clint looked up and met his eyes. Steve gave him a grin that wasn’t completely self assured and might as well have been accompanied by a propaganda poster thumbs up. Clint took Steve’s whole dick down, watching the entire time, and was relieved to see the smile become more genuine. 

He crooked his finger, searching. “Oh God!” Steve said, and Clint had to smile again. 

He worked Steve open slowly, trying to be as painstaking as possible - as much as he wanted to get inside him. He kept his mouth on Steve’s cock nearly the entire time, moving up and down slowly and licking at the head. He would have continued further, spreading Steve more, but Steve ran his fingers through Clint’s hair and tugged. “Clint, please. I want you.” 

Steve kept his hand in Clint’s hair and guided him up so that they could kiss, and then he arched his hips into Clint’s and got their cocks in contact. “Steve, how do you..?” Clint asked as Steve’s fingers grasped Clint’s cock and fisted him. 

“Want to see you,” Steve murmured, and Clint nodded, shifting back onto his knees. Steve was pretty much perfect from this perspective, spread beneath him, hair moist and eyes framed by his long lashes. Steve slung his legs over Clint’s shoulder, as Clint often did himself, and Clint carefully slipped a condom on himself and then lubed it. Then he placed some more lube on Steve.

He slid just his tip in and watched Steve’s face. Steve’s lips were pressed together carefully, as if he was in deep thought. “OK,” he said, and Clint kissed at the side of his knee, sucked the soft skin and then slipped in further. Steve was intensely hot, tight, and it wasn’t just for Steve’s sake that Clint was moving with care. “God, Clint, that’s good, Clint...” 

“Steve, you’re perfect,” Clint said, and he ran his hands down Steve’s smooth thighs as he pressed in further. He glanced to the side and saw Steve’s hand clutching at the sheet, and Clint pulled back slightly before he thrust all the way inside. 

Steve moaned, and it took a few more strokes before Clint reached and took one of the pillows out from under him - Steve didn’t need that much of a boost, given their position, and when he pressed back in the sound that came out of Steve’s mouth was wanton and loud. “Steve,” Clint said, but Steve’s eyes were closed and Clint began to move a bit faster, adjusting Steve’s legs slightly so that he could get a little closer in to him. 

Steve was beginning to respond, then, arching his hips and pressing back against Clint, drawing him in further, as if that was possible. “Yes, Clint, please, Clint...God!” Steve said, and Clint reached forward and took his cock, knowing he wasn’t going to last - he’d been thinking about this, waiting for this, and it was pretty much everything he had wanted. 

“So, so, good Steve,” Clint murmured, and felt the tightening in the lower depths of his abdomen. He quickened his pace even further, plunging in, and then Steve was moaning and spurting all over his hand and that was all it took to do Clint in a few strokes later.

He kissed Steve’s knee again, as soon as he was able, then pulled out and flicked the condom onto the floor. Then he laid down next to Steve and put his head on Steve’s chest. Steve instantly thread his fingers through Clint’s hair. 

“Oh, wow,” Steve said, slowly. “Oh.”

“Well, that’s good to hear,” Clint murmured, and then looked up and kissed Steve softly. Steve moaned softly at the kiss and then Clint smiled as he withdrew. “I think a lot of people heard.” 

“Mmm,” Steve said. “Yeah. But that’s OK, right?” 

“As long as you don’t mind the commentary,” Clint said, and he felt Steve shrug underneath him. “You know, if anyone was around. I bet they’ve got some soundproofing on the lab.”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” Steve said, and Clint grinned, slightly. He was still a little charmed by the idea that Stark was making him custom arrows and he was definitely more than a little concerned that the two of them thought a mild hallucinogen was the way to go. 

* *

Neither Bruce nor Tony was outside when they Clint went to go and start cooking something for dinner, but both appeared as soon as he had the onions and garlic reducing in the pan.

“You know, that is one of my favorite smells,” Bruce murmured, and Clint had to wonder if he actually did have a giant bag of weed. It would explain his friendship with Tony.

“Didn’t know you could cook,” Tony replied. “What are you making?”

“Fried potatoes, pancakes, and sausage,” Clint said. Tony’s lip twitched at the last item.

“Breakfast for dinner,” Steve said, looking up from the _A Feast for Crows._ He’d barreled through the first three books after the Theon reference but was now, predictably, bogged down in the fourth. Clint had told him he didn’t really need to read it - that was what Wikipedia was for - but Steve was insistent on doing it the right way.

“Too bad,” Tony said. “I promised Pepper I’d take her out. Reparations, you know - though she, of course, is claiming I almost blew the Tower up, which. It was just two of those arrows.” 

“It’s a good thing you’re a billionaire,” Bruce said, pouring himself some juice from the fridge. Tony’s brow furrowed. “Well, if you take her out to dinner every time you almost blow something up.” 

“Ha ha, Dr. Banner,” Tony replied, and then glanced over at Steve. “Really, don’t read that - it’s really boring, though, of course, all of the boring stuff will probably be really important later...” Steve glanced at Clint, then shook his head. “Anyway, kids, I should go get ready to escort the Lady Pepper for our meal. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

“That’s really not a limiting factor,” Bruce said, pouring himself another glass of juice. Clint wondered if his metabolism worked like Steve’s. Bruce had been a bad combination of ravenous and nauseous following the Chitauri invasion, and at the time, Clint had taken a little solace in it - someone, at least, was in worse shape than he was. 

Tony just rolled his eyes before he left. 

“He’s going to start pushing you to move in,” Bruce said. Steve pulled his book up a little further to cover his face.

“Right, well, good to know, so I can get a moving van arranged for all my stuff,” Clint said, turning so that he was facing the stove. 

“Just a heads up,” Bruce said, voice a little softer, and Clint nodded. 

“You know,” Steve said, not looking up from the book, “you could at least leave a toothbrush.” 

“Gross,” said Bruce.

“I bring it with me!” Clint said, tossing the cut potatoes into the pan.


	18. Chapter 18

“You’re missing something,” Tony said, and Steve looked up from his book and furrowed his brow.

“No,” he said. 

“Pretty sure you usually have a sniper around,” Tony said.

Steve rolled his eyes, because he knew that Tony was just looking for information. He wasn’t sure why it annoyed him - Tony was a member of the Avengers, too, and so it was reasonable for him to want to know where one of their other members had gone off to. But there was also concern in his voice, and it made Steve wonder exactly what had developed between them when he wasn’t paying attention.

“He got sent on a mission,” Steve said. 

“And that’s all you know?” Tony asked, leaning in a little closer to read over Steve’s shoulder. “Oh, bless Jon Snow and his man pain. Have you seen the TV series? I feel a little bit like a letch, but the actor they got to play him-” 

“They’re spies,” Steve said, closing the book and turning to look at Tony. “It’s a SHIELD mission, I don’t have the clearance for it.”

“Red is with him?” Tony asked. Steve nodded.

“He said he’d try to call on a secure line,” Steve said. “Gave me a disposable cell phone.”

“How James Bond,” Tony said. He walked over at sat on the chair across from the couch. Steve gave him a tight smile - this inquiry was obviously ancillary to what Tony was really after. “You know Bruce?”

“Lives on the same floor as me,” Steve said and nodded his head. “I’m familiar.” 

“You think he’s OK?” Tony asked. Steve studied his face for a moment and realized that Tony was being serious, and also earnest. 

“I...yeah?” Steve said, and the question mark belied everything. “I don’t see much of him.” 

“Right,” Tony said. “I mean, we work together a lot, but...well, I’ve been trying to spend time with Pepper after almost dying on her for the second time-”

“Second?” Steve asked, and Tony waved his hand.

“But, I guess he’s spent a lot of time alone and alone surrounded by people, so he’s used to it?” Tony, who clearly had spent very little time alone, wrinkled his nose at this. Steve sort of understood - he’d either been with his mother, in the orphanage and out with Bucky, surrounded by chorus girls, or with the Commandos. There had always been another constant. 

“Well...” Steve said. “He seems happy.”

“He had a, uh, lady...before,” Tony said. “I sort of mentioned it to him and he went all blank on me. Maybe get him a dog?” 

“I...wait - you want to get him a girlfriend, or a dog?” Steve asked. Tony shrugged his shoulders. 

“Yeah, I mean...it’s a natural instinct! You’re making sweet blonde love-” Steve shuddered at this description “-and I’m-”

“Please don’t make some pepperoni related pun,” Steve said. 

Tony’s mouth opened, then closed. It was clear that he had not considered this before - Steve felt like he should be concerned by this, but then again, people often missed what was obvious. “Well,” he said, finally, and he seemed a little impressed - his mouth was still a little open, basically saying, _It is clear I’ve underestimated you, Captain_. Steve shrugged his shoulders. “Anyway, I just thought, you know, Jolly Green might be a little lonely...” 

“I don’t think just doing something for someone is ever a good idea,” Steve said, and Tony just gave him a slight smile. “You want me to investigate this.”

“Everyone talks to you,” Tony said. “You’re so earnest and nice.”

“Isn’t that negated if I have some kind of intent?” Steve said.

“Well, don’t be obvious about it,” Tony said, and shook his head slightly. “Shit, Captain, you were covert operations all around Europe-”

“I wasn’t a spy, though,” Steve replied. Tony rolled his eyes. Steve wondered what Howard had told him - he had some idea, based on the way Tony had initially reacted to him. He wanted to apologize. He and Howard had been good friends, Steve had no idea that it had gone so deep - but it was hard to understand how people had reacted to what happened to him, when he himself couldn’t really process it. “I’ll, uh, see if it comes up?”

“Great, awesome, look at all us, paling around, living together, just having a great ole time - we should have a kegger, you know, invite some people...Rhodey, Happy, that Galaga Guy from SHIELD...” 

“Um, sure?” Steve said, and Tony shook his head at him, then stood up. 

“I’ve got to work on the suit. Suits. Rebuild the arsenal, as it were - sort of took a hit, you know?" Steve nodded, trying to detect something in the way Tony said that line. He hadn't really spoken of what had happened with the Mandarin. Not that Steve expected to be the person who would get the whole exposition. 

“Sure," Steve said.

* * 

Clint had packed up and left in a hurry when Steve had gone out for his morning run - well, early morning run, since Steve had got in the habit of doing one when he woke up at 4:30 - and Steve almost had to wonder if he had timed it like that. Clint was standing in the main living area when Steve returned, in his suit with a black SHIELD jacket over it. “I’m off,” he said. “Nothing major - few days, maybe.” Then he handed Steve the phone. “Nat’s with me.” 

It had been strange to workout in the gym without anyone else. Natasha had been Steve’s companion more often than not, but Clint had been working with him on tumbling and something he called parkour on an obstacle course he had got Tony to install. Otherwise Clint would be in the back, working at the target range or doing strength training exercises. Steve qstuck to the punching bag this time and then ran through some of the martial arts moves he had been learning from his SHIELD instructor. He knew he should do more, but it was hard to be motivated - and he was almost a little envious of Clint, getting sent out into the field. 

Steve squinted in the mirror after his shower and ran a towel through his hair. _You knew this going in,_ he told himself, _you knew this would happen as soon as he was cleared._ Clint had already been sitting around for a month and a half. Of course SHIELD was going to take the first opportunity to get him back in the field. He knew he shouldn’t feel relieved about Natasha being there - not that Clint needed someone to protect him, but he had seen how people, his co-workers, looked at him in the hallway. As though they would have been strong enough to withstand Loki’s scepter. Not everyone had an arc reactor protecting their heart. 

Steve opened the drawer to pull out his toothpaste - not that he needed to bother - and then smiled when he went to take his toothbrush out of the holder. Clint’s was there, right alongside his, and Steve was certain it was a deliberate gesture. Clint didn’t forget things, probably because he had so few things to manage. Steve understood that acutely. 

He had just pulled on a pair of sweats when there was a knock on the door. Bruce was grimacing, almost like he expected Steve to slam the door right in his face.

“Hey,” Steve said.

“So, Tony said you were...free, this evening?” Steve nodded. “I could use some fresh air, I thought, maybe...get dinner?”

“Sure,” Steve said. “I’ll change.” Bruce nodded.

Clint had recently finally convinced him he needed to get some new things - implicit in his argument was that, in order to move on or whatever, Steve might be best served by getting some clothes that he hadn’t acquired more than half a century ago. It had reminded Steve a lot of when one of the military secretaries had come and taken him out for new clothes immediate after his transformation. His treatment - that was a better word. It was better with Clint though, since he himself wasn’t so much focused on the fashion aspect of things, more the utility. _Get some new jeans, some new shirts,_ he said, tossing some things into Steve’s arms. 

_At least this gives you something else to think about,_ Steve thought. _Something else to worry about._ He shouldn’t be worried - Clint and Natasha were consummate professionals, and they probably weren’t working with any agents who weren’t also. Still, Steve couldn’t shake the ominous feeling he had about things.

The restaurant was several blocks down the street and in one of the undamaged sections that circled the area still rebuilding around Stark Tower. “Most authentic Indian food I’ve found so far,” Bruce said, and quirked a smile at Steve. Bruce ordered their drinks in the language that their server spoke. “Bengali,” Bruce said.

“How many languages do you speak?” Steve asked.

“Fourish,” Bruce said. “English, French from school, enough Bengali and Portuguese to get along. I was in Brazil for awhile.” Steve nodded, and glanced at the milky drink the server brought with a little trepidation. “Lassi - you’ll want it, with the curry. When it’s spicy.” 

“OK,” Steve said. He’d recently begun eating spicier foods, thank to both Bruce and Clint - who seemed to have killed a vast majority of their taste buds at some point. Steve’s attempts to tell them that his were amplified by the serum didn’t seem to really resonate with the two of them. “I trust you.” 

Bruce arched an eyebrow at this and bit at his lower lips. He did it a lot, Steve noticed, his lower lips were chapped and chewed. “So, uh, what have you been reading lately?” Bruce asked, and when Steve mentioned the books, Bruce got a soft smile. Steve was relieved to have something easy to chat about. Bruce was constantly reading - Steve got the impression that he was trying to catch up on what he had missed. They transitioned into the news items of the day.

“Tony tried to convince me the _Daily Show_ and _Colbert Report_ were real,” Steve said. 

“He would do that,” Bruce said. He used his naan bread to wipe up the last of the curry. “Thanks,” he added.

“I didn’t do anything,” Steve replied.

“It’s just...good to get out, you know?” Bruce said, and glanced around the slightly crowded restaurant. “Reminds you that you’re sort of a person, right?”

Steve nodded - life outside the Tower could sometimes seem like it was the strange part of reality, where people went about mundane tasks and had no knowledge of what it was like to repel an interstellar invasion. “I had a good time,” he said. He chewed at his cheek a little, not sure how to phrase the question he wanted to ask - he knew, very well, what it felt like to be the third wheel, the spare tire...even when Bucky would bring along another girl for Steve. Usually it just turned into the two of them fighting for Bucky’s attention. “You can always...”

Bruce shrugged his shoulders. “I spent a lot of time trying to make sure people didn’t notice me,” he said. “Especially after Harlem.” 

“Mmm,” Steve said. He’d watched the footage a couple of times, but it only just occurred to him now that the dark haired woman had to be Betty, the woman that Tony had just mentioned that morning. 

“Anyway,” Bruce said, and pushed back from the table. “You liked the food?” 

“Yeah,” Steve said - _there goes your window of opportunity, Rogers!_ Sure, people talked to him, but it didn’t mean that Steve knew how to talk back. “It’s a lot different, but, it’s good. You were right about the lassi.” 

Bruce nodded, and he had a soft smile and looked relieved. Sometimes, Steve found it hard to believe that he had such anger, but he definitely got the sense that it was warranted. 

* *

Steve had the phone on him for two straight days, not really anticipating that it would ring, but also expecting that it would at some point. As the hours went by, he began to get a sick feeling that something had gone wrong - Clint was a sniper, after all, he had to have some down time to at least send a text message.

When it finally rang, he smiled, “Hey,” he said.

“Captain?” Natasha replied. Steve felt his stomach drop, and he sat back down onto his bed. “Steve. Clint’s in stable condition, but you’re going to want to meet us at the medical wing of Headquarters.”

“What happened?” Steve asked. “What do you mean, stable?” 

“He was a dumb ass,” Natasha said. “He went for me - he’s beat up, might have some cracked ribs and a broken bone, but he’s conscious and he’ll heal.”

“OK,” Steve said.

“I’ve got to go - we’re leaving Caracas now.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update - I don't like leaving cliffhangers...well, big ones. Sort of cruel, you know? Also! We're in the home stretch, but I think there might be a sequel. At which point this is going to be a novel...oops?

“He’s on my team,” Steve said to the SHIELD agent who was standing in front of the door to medical wing. Steve didn’t want to just move him aside, but he was pretty close - just like the agent who’d tried to stop him, Clint, and Natasha from getting into the Quinjet in New York.

“Your team, sir?” The agent asked, and Steve leaned into the Agent’s face - presumably they all knew who he was, given that he’d cased quite a stir when they found him. “Apologies, uh, Captain, I-” He stepped aside, and Steve walked in the door. 

Natasha was seated on a chair outside of one of the medical rooms, looking decidedly pissed off until she made eye contact with Steve. She pushed some of her hair out of her face. Her suit was ripped and there was blood and grime all over it and her lip was split and she had a black eye. “Captain,” she said, and inhaled and shook her head. “Dumb ass.”

“What happened?” Steve asked.

“They were going to take me in for...questioning,” Natasha said. “But then Clint was there - he was just supposed to back me up, but...” She shook her head. “I was prepared for it - it’s part of what I do.” 

Steve nodded, and he didn’t need much more to get a clear image of what had happened and why. He shook his head. “But you’re OK?”

“Besides this, yeah. Had to wait for back-up to get in before we could extract him - they managed to work him over pretty well, by then. It was only twenty, twenty-five minutes.” Steve nodded. He also had a pretty good understanding of what could happen in that amount of time, if someone wasn’t too focused on drawing things out. 

“Natasha,” came a garbled voice from inside the room, “Why is Steve in Caracas?” 

Natasha got a slight smile on her face. “He gets pretty fucked on morphine,” she said.

“Oh,” Steve said, and then walked into the doorway. He wasn’t exactly prepared for seeing Clint in the state that he was in, even though cognitively he knew what to expect. “Fuck, Clint.”

“You swore,” Clint said, cocking his head towards him and giving him a broad, goofy smile. “You’re not allowed.”

“Only in uniform,” Steve replied - and was that from the first cup of coffee they shared together? Didn’t matter, really, it was from early. And here they were now.

“You can tell him, it’s OK,” Clint said, and Steve noticed there was a doctor in the corner. “Or do I have to sign a form?”

“Agent Barton has a deep facial contusion, a bruised jaw and orbital bone-”

“I can see that,” Steve said, arching an eyebrow.

“A broken rib, a broken wrist, several deep rib contusions, and we’ve stitched the stab wounds.” Steve winced. 

“It’s OK, Steve,” Clint said. “They didn’t take any teeth. I hate it when they take teeth.” Steve nodded, though he supposed his experience was slightly different - he got plenty of punches to the face that knocked his teeth out, but they came back, usually half an hour later, and it always felt unpleasant. “And no acid.” Steve sighed, remembering the second or third time when they had slept together and he had noticed the mottled scars on Clint's back and arms. _Acid,_ Clint had said, with a shrug - as though it was to be expected. _Lye, maybe. Hurt like a bitch._ Steve had kissed the scars, ran his fingers over them, felt Clint shudder underneath him.

“Clint,” Steve said, and he took a seat in the uncomfortable hospital chair next to Clint’s bed. Clint turned and gave him the best approximation of a smile he could manage. “You can’t just-”

“It’s my job,” Clint said, glancing down at his hands. Steve followed his gaze - the broken wrist was going to be difficult to deal with. Clint was going to be jittery without being able to shoot.

“I thought you were a sniper,” Steve said. 

“It was just twenty minutes,” Clint replied.

“Yeah,” Steve said, and his level of frustration was rising. “What would have happened to you after an hour? Two?” 

Clint shook his head. “I knew Nat would take care of it-”

“You don’t get to-”

“I ensured the completion of the mission and its objectives,” Clint said. “That's my job. It had to be one of us.”

“So you elected yourself,” Natasha said, and Steve turned, grateful that she was in the doorway. He didn’t want to make Clint feel out numbered, again, but Natasha could at least add some legitimacy to Steve’s argument. 

Clint shook his head, then winced. Steve grabbed at one of the ice packs on the hospital bedside table, cracked it, and held it to Clint’s jaw. Clint eyed him, almost suspicious, then settled back into the bed pillows. “I didn’t want you to get hurt,” Clint said. His voice was soft. 

“You are so thick skulled,” she said. “People _care_ about you.” _Thank you,_ Steve thought, and he knew he should have been the one to say it but he didn’t quite know how. Clint had only been able to leave his toothbrush in Steve’s bathroom a few days ago. 

“Don’t think I don’t appreciate it,” she said, and turned to leave. Over her shoulder, she added, “You can have him.” 

“Gladly,” Steve said, and met Clint’s gaze. Clint gave him a soft smile and reached out with his unbroken wrist. Steve clutched it. 

“You mind putting the television on, Steve?” Clint asked, and Steve nodded.

* * 

“I feel like you’re a harbinger of something,” Clint said, later that afternoon, when Tony arrived in a pinstriped suit, carrying a vase with three sad looking flowers in it.

“SHIELD headquarters lacks a decent gift shop,” Tony said. “I only got these out of a secretaries vase before she started to yell at me.” Steve had to grin at this. “Besides, token gesture.” Tony set the flowers down on the bedside table and shuffled on his feet. 

“You’re going to be discharged this afternoon,” Steve said. The doctor wouldn’t talk to him further until Fury intervened, and after finding out that Clint was stable Steve had called Tony, remembering the medical rooms he had installed in the Tower.

“You’ll like the nurse I hired,” said Tony. “Her name is Gretchen. Great tits - do you like tits?” 

“Uh - what?” Clint said, and glanced at Steve suspiciously.

“Just for a few days, until you’re more mobile,” Steve said.

“They’ll take care of me here,” Clint replied. Steve resisted the urge to frown - he got it, he did. Intimacy issues, don't want to get too attached, fear of things that are going well...Still, though.

“Possibly,” Tony said. “But you haven’t been making very good decisions, today, or yesterday, whenever it was, have you, Barton? So we’re going to make some for you.”

Clint pressed his lips together and sighed. “I don’t really like tits,” he said. 

“Well, there are other benefits,” Tony said. “Bruce is a doctor.”

“I don’t think he’s a medical doctor,” Steve said.

Tony looked confused. “What was he doing, offering medical aid to all of those people in Kolkata, then?” Steve shrugged his shoulders.

“How could he be a medical doctor when he has a doctorate in physics?” Clint asked.

“Joint degree,” Tony said. “I have one of those. Possibly two. I lost count. Huh - Dr. Banner. What a slacker.” Steve rolled his eyes at this. “Well, in the very least, he has field experience, so if it turns out I just hired a Naughty Nurse you’ll still have someone to uh, change your dressings or whatever.” 

* *

Gretchen proved to be legitimately competent. “I’m actually a nurse practitioner,” she said, when Tony introduced her to Clint. She gave him a sharp glance, and Tony arched his eyebrow and grinned. 

“So, what is that? Like a doctor?” Tony asked. 

“I just can’t write prescriptions,” she replied.

“That is a shame,” Tony said.

“S’OK,” Clint said. “SHIELD sent me home with a bucket of narcotics.” 

“Which should only be used for acute pain,” Gretchen said, folding her arms and emphasizing her ample breasts. Tony’s grin widened. Steve resisted the urge to ask him about Pepper - he knew this was part of Tony’s...whatever, but it seemed to be going over the line. 

“Right, absolutely,” Clint said. “That is the only way I use them.” 

“Gretchen is also very discrete - she was previously helping out some Russian...importer/exporter who got shot.” 

“I went private to help pay for my doctor in nursing,” she said. 

“And smart!” Tony said. “Look at that.” 

“Anyway,” said Gretchen - Steve wondered if there was some professional title he should call her, “I think two days of bed rest is optimal - and that follows what your doctor recommended, and then after that you’ll have to take it easy for at least two weeks. Since they did surgery on the wrist and put some pins you’ll be in a soft cast by then.”

“You heard that, right, Steve?” Tony asked. “I presume you have to take it easy on bed rest, as well, right?”

“Right,” said Gretchen, and then looked at Steve, who was seated next to Clint’s large hospital style bed. She turned a distinct shade of red and pressed her lips together. Steve sighed - since he had seen pictures of himself taken from people’s cell phones on the street he wondered how long it would be before the Internet erupted with _Captain America is gay!_ “OK...” 

“Don’t you have something to do, Stark?” Clint asked. “Run your company, build super hero armor, girlfriend..?” 

“Probably something like that,” Tony said. “I’ll leave you two - three - to all the fun medical stuff.” Steve nodded, and Tony waved at them before he left the doorway. 

“I want to take a good look at those stitches,” said Gretchen.

“Steve, you can go too,” Clint said.

“I’m-”

“This isn’t really, uh...desirable,” Clint said, and made sort of a grimace on his face.

“OK,” Steve said. “I’ll get you something to eat?” Clint glanced away from him when he walked out the door. 

“I can take care of that, actually,” Gretchen said, and Steve nodded, not sure why this gave him a pit in his stomach.


	20. Chapter 20

“You know,” Natasha said, when she arrived with a few magazines and a book, “he’s only trying to help.”

Clint narrowed his eyes at her. He was getting to the point where the painkillers weren’t that much fun anymore. He felt like he was underwater - he was going to need to downgrade his dosage, perhaps, so that he got that sense of exhilaration back. He hoped Nurse Practitioner Gretchen hadn’t taken them and put them somewhere - she was so not what he was hoping for, given that Tony had hired her.

“He’s your...have you said that yet, by the way?” 

“I think so,” Clint said. “We sort of talked about it. Like about life mates.” He really wanted to slip deep into the depths of the water and go to sleep - curl up around some nice, soft sea cucumbers or something.

“So he’s your boyfriend,” said Natasha. “And he wants to take care of you. That’s...normal.” 

“Yeah,” Clint said, and he glanced over at his broken wrist. “I just...”

“Clint,” Natasha said, leaning forward, “actually...I probably shouldn’t be giving you advice. It’s not like I know anything about relationships. It’s why I brought you this.” She reached for the magazine stack and handed Clint the latest issue of _Cosmopolitan_. On the cover it told him he could learn about _when your vagina acts weird after you’ve had sex_ and _99 sex questions_.

“Is that really applicable?” Clint asked. “Because I think-”

Natasha interrupted, pointing a finger at _4 talks you should have had with him by now._ Normally her fingers were neatly filed, occasionally manicured if a mission called for it, but this one had been bitten down and the cuticles were red and bloodied. Clint reached with his good hand - thank God he’d convinced them that he was a lefty - and touched her finger, then stroked up at down.

“Natasha,” he said.

“I just...you didn’t have to prove anything, Clint,” Natasha said. 

“You think that’s what I was doing?” Clint asked. He wasn’t sure, himself - his instincts just told him that that was what he needed to do, that he needed to be the one to step forward. “I just didn’t want you to have to...” he shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh,” Natasha said, and she leaned back into her chair and pressed her lips together. “Because you’re...you know, we’re probably about equal, in terms of degree of damage.”

“No,” Clint said, “You never-”

“You were always on the side of...you had an ideology, a reason,” Natasha said. “I just executed orders, blindly. I didn’t know anything else.” 

Clint nodded - he remembered Natasha, when he had first brought her in. She wasn’t really a person, then, and all he had to go on when he asserted that they could redeem her was how frightened she had looked when he had cornered her, gun pointed at her head.

“You know lots of things,” Clint said, but he didn’t say it in a very convincing way. Natasha shook her head at him.

“I said knew - you want me to dial down on the dilaudid?” she asked.

“Mmm,” Clint replied. “Probably a good idea.”

“Why don’t you tell me why you don’t want Steve to help you,” Natasha said.

It came out of Clint’s mouth before he really thought about it - but then again, Natasha knew he was like that when he was on painkillers. “Because he’s never going to need someone to take care of him,” Clint said. “He’s always fine...and every mission, we come back, in some kind of state, let alone Avenging...” Clint sighed. “Also because I have no brain to mouth filter when I’m on painkillers.” 

“Well,” Natasha said. “Those are...OK. But it doesn’t mean that you should go along with that reasoning. You are high on drugs.”

“Nat.” Clint said, because he couldn’t really think of anything better. 

“Look, Clint,” Natasha said, and she leaned in a little closer to him. “Don’t fuck Captain America up.” 

“What?” Clint asked, because Natasha said it in her deadly serious voice but he was pretty sure that she was fucking with him.

Indicating that she might possess telepathic powers, Natasha said, “I am being a little serious and I know that you didn’t start...whatever you’re doing without thinking about how you might get torn up coming out of it or how he might.” 

“Oh,” Clint said. 

“Also Fury would be angry with you,” Natasha said.

“Coulson would roll over in his grave,” Clint added, and then glanced down at his hands. It was inevitable, at some point. One of them would have to say it. Clint wasn’t sure why, but he had an image in his head of him going to Phil’s gravesite with some flowers, and having to be apologetic - _so, yeah, totally doing nasty things to your childhood hero._

“He would be much better at talking sense into you,” Natasha said. 

“I am an adult,” Clint replied. “I don’t need sense talked into me.” Natasha widened her eyes, basically saying, _that is the dumbest thing you have said in some time._

“Then let your boyfriend make you some soup, or something,” she said. “Can I go tell him he can make you some soup?”

“I’d prefer ice cream, honestly,” Clint replied.

“You don’t have to make ice cream.” 

“You just, like, heat soup up. How is scooping some ice cream into a bowl any different?” Clint asked. Natasha flashed him a soft smile before she left.

* *

Steve arrived twenty minutes later with two bowls of ice cream. “I had to get them from Tony,” Steve said. “They’re apparently artisinal, whatever that means.”

“The milk comes from cows who have luxuriated in fields of organic grass that gives subtle expressions of flavor to their milk,” Clint replied. Steve glanced down at his ice cream and grinned. “No, actually, that’s probably pretty close to the explanation,” Clint added.

“Well,” Steve said, and shrugged his shoulders. “It does have a very rich taste.”

“That’s what happens when you treat your cows well,” Clint said. “Look, about earlier.”

“Earlier?”

“When I told you to leave,” Clint said. Steve just nodded. “I just...you know. Want you to have a certain image of me.” 

Steve turned his head slightly, and appeared perplexed. He set his ice cream bowl on the table over Clint’s bed and said, “That’s understandable.” 

“OK,” Clint said.

“But - it wasn’t about me thinking poorly of you. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

_Shit_ , Clint thought, because he had meant literal image - it was bad enough he was dating Captain America, after all, to add insult to injury...well, in this case it would be to add injury to insult, if that was possible. “Well, that’s comforting. Good. No, I meant...like, real image. I mean, you’re perfect.” 

“Oh,” Steve said, and gave a corresponding O of a mouth that Clint could only think of as a blow job face since he had heard Tony describe a similar expression on a television show they were watching - _good blow job, face, there, right, guys? What, I’m asking, like I would know?_ Clint shook his head, as though that was going to inspire more clarity. His dose was lowered and he was more on the manic end of what opiates could inspire, thoughts sort of swirling and trailing off into places that were not productive to visit - now, or ever.

Clint bit his lower lip and waited for Steve’s response. It was sort of unfair, putting it on him, but Clint wasn’t sure what else to say. Well, he was sure what to say, but he most certainly was not going to say any of that out loud.

“I’m not, though,” Steve said. “It all came out of a bottle.” 

“That was the accelerant,” Clint said. “It was already you, just...not yet.”

“I got winded climbing a flight of stairs,” Steve said. 

“Besides, not the point,” Clint said, and then felt bad, because clearly Steve was still dealing with the why and how of his transformation. He sighed, and Steve met his eyes. “I mean, it is, because...it’s important, to you. Look, I told you before I was really bad at talking, so. I just...”

“No, I understand,” Steve said, and then he blinked. Clint followed where he was looking to the _Cosmo_ that Natasha had pointedly left behind in an obvious place. _Jerk,_ Clint thought. “Have we had those four important talks?”

“Uh, I didn’t look at it-”

“Because you were reading the sex tips?” Steve asked. He picked up the magazine and flipped through the pages. “Huh, the first one is about sex.”

“They are sex tips,” Clint said.

Steve shook his head. “Are you satisfied with our sex life?” Clint widened his eyes and blushed slightly, then felt fairly juvenile for it even though Steve smiled at him. “It says it’s important to talk to your partner about what works and what doesn’t and, uh, what things you like to do in bed. Because some people have kinks.”

“Oh, God,” Clint said.

“And I’m supposed to be the blushing virgin,” Steve replied, and flipped the page.

“I had a poster of you on my wall, when I was kid,” Clint replied.

Steve put the magazine in his lap. “Really? You never mentioned that.”

“Well, it’s weird - not, like, Coulson weird-” Clint paused, for a moment, remembering the trading cards, the Captain America bobblehead, the picture a day calendar he had got Coulson sort of as a joke last year but which had been carefully placed on the agent’s desk. “Every kid, did, though.”

Steve winced at this and ran his fingers through his hair, and then made a very good decision not to pursue that topic any further. “The second thing is are you satisfied with the amount of time we spend together? Because sometimes people can be control freaks, or...up someone else’s ass. Isn’t this a ladies magazine?” 

“Did you miss the fact that vagina was on the cover?” Clint asked. 

“Huh,” Steve said, and shook his head.

“Your ice cream is getting melty,” Clint replied, and he reached forward with his good hand and took the magazine from Steve. Now was not the time for a relationship talk. There weren’t any real problems. Well, there was a sort of real problem but...they’d worked through that. Without a magazines help. “These naughty questions aren’t very naughty - what should I do with my hands during oral?" Steve frowned. "Oh, come on, Steve, certainly people had and talked about sex in the forties.”

“We used euphemisms,” Steve replied, and put a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth, purposefully licking and swirling his tongue around it. Clint narrowed his eyes, but then realized Steve had a sort of sad look once he was done with the ice cream. He’d been getting them less often. Clint reached forward and touched his thigh. “It’s not really a funny story - you had to be there - I thought, for some reason, people called sex fondue. And I wound up asking Peggy, _do you two fondue?_ About Howard.”

“Tony’s Howard?” Clint asked. Steve nodded.

“It was when he was flying me to go and rescue Bucky - behind enemy lines. He was good, and he didn’t have to do it.” Steve swallowed the remainder of his ice cream in a much less erotic way. 

“I’m sorry,” Clint said. 

Steve waved his hand and put his empty bowl to the side. “I know, it’s just...” He looked at Clint with wide eyes, and there was moisture gathering in the sides, and all Clint could think was _oh fuck I made Captain America cry._ One of the light bulbs in the room fizzled and crackled - both Steve and Clint turned to stare at it. _And I’m being haunted by Coulson,_ Clint thought, but that figured. Coulson would have a hard time giving up being a handler.

“It was more about Natasha,” Clint said. “I can get beat up, but for her, the first thing they would do, it would be different, and she doesn’t need any more...” He stopped, not sure how much he should reveal because Natasha was so intensely private - for good reason.

“Oh,” Steve said, and focused back on Steve. He had blinked away the moisture. “I didn’t think about that. Still - try not to, uh, just volunteer for getting beat up?”

“OK,” Clint said, because that seemed reasonable. Steve nodded and gave him a slight smile. 

* *

“If I were you,” Gretchen said, “I wouldn’t be getting any relationship advice from _Cosmo_.” She had come in when Steve was out making dinner, and Clint appreciated her timing. She was probably worth the money. 

“Is there a lady magazine that offers a better perspective?” he asked. 

“No,” Gretchen said. Clint nodded at her. “And I’m not a therapist.”

“I have plenty of those already,” Clint replied. Gretchen arched an eyebrow, and Clint shrugged, then grimaced. “Fuck.”

“You should know better, given how many times you’ve broken your ribs.”

“Did you talk with Steve and arrange a good cop, bad cop routine?” Clint asked. He really just wanted her to go away so he could pop another painkiller, now that he had located the bottle. 

“Steve?” she asked, as she placed a new bandage on the large stab wound on Clint’s thigh - they’d been aiming for the femoral artery but had missed, and, really, second rate work there. Then, after a moment, she said, “Oh, you mean-”

“Captain America,” Clint supplied. “Known as Steve Rogers, out of uniform, not that it’s...I guess if you did research, it’s in the public record somewhere.” 

“I recognized him from school film strips,” Gretchen said, and looked at Clint in a way Clint was used to - the _really, you’re dating him look?_ Clint wanted to point out to her that he was pretty awesome, himself, and had helped save the world. Instead, he just nodded. “He seems genuinely concerned for you.”

“Yes, I get that, now, thanks,” Clint said. “Besides, I thought you weren’t my therapist?” Gretchen smiled and shrugged.


	21. Chapter 21

Steve hovered over Clint even after he was allowed out of bed, ensuring that the furthest Clint got was the couch in the main area. And even though they had touched in front of everyone, even though everyone knew, it felt like really going public when Steve wrapped his arm around Clint when they sat watching television while Bruce, Natasha, Tony, Gretchen the nurse and even Pepper drifted in and out.

Clint hadn’t been surprised that Natasha was staying in her room, at least until he was back on his feet. Whenever she felt responsible for an injury she turned into a mother hen - frightening some of the junior field agents they went out with when they woke up in their hospital bed and found the Black Widow staring at them. That - that never got old. 

Clint was on the couch, flipping through JARVIS’ selection and trying to find something brain numbing but not stupid - his usual fallback was _Law & Order: SVU_ but something told him that no matter how good Steve was about adopting to modernity he might not be ready for that just yet. 

“I agree,” said Bruce. Clint squinted his eyes and turned to look at Bruce in the kitchen, chopping up vegetables. He hadn’t even realized he was there.

“Uh, did I say that out loud?” Bruce nodded. “I am so sick of these painkillers, I just say everything and feel stoned and...but I don’t want to feel things, either.” He groaned, because everything seemed so difficult all of the sudden. Another reason he needed off the painkillers. 

“Well, you know...there are alternate options,” Bruce said, sort of mumbling. 

“I knew it,” Clint said, and he turned so he could face Bruce and winced when his ribs decided that they did not like that option. “I knew it.”

“Uh...knew what?” Bruce asked.

“Don’t play innocent with me,” Clint said. “You just set it up...” 

“Set what up?” Steve asked, who must have just left the gym and was headed to shower when he overheard their conversation.

Clint turned slower this time. “Bruce really does have a giant bag of weed.”

“Uh...” Bruce said, and just barely missed his hand with the large knife he was using. Steve raised his eyebrows. “Shit.”

“Do you really have a giant bag of weed?” Steve asked, in his best Captain America voice. Bruce just nodded. It was a really good tool, Clint thought, he wondered why Steve didn’t use it in the bedroom. Maybe after the giant bag of weed. 

“Follow me?” Bruce said, flinching slightly, and Clint grinned. 

“Wait, you,” Steve said, and walked over to help Clint get up off of the couch. Clint gave him a soft smile - he was doing his best, here, to let Steve help him. He was Captain America, after all. And Steve liked him.

When they got Bruce’s room, Clint noticed his eyes were quiet wide - as though he had seen something wonderful and amazing, and he was desperate to take all of it in. It was possible he actually was seeing it, though, Clint keenly remembered the hallucinogen that Bruce and Tony had slipped into his smoke arrows and wouldn’t put it past him to slip a little into his weed. Or, hell, maybe they came up with the compound because it originally came in Bruce’s weed.  
“Dr. Banner,” said Clint. “You’ve been playing us for too long.”

“Mmm,” Bruce said, and smiled at them. He shrugged, and for a moment he looked so small and innocent - and Clint could almost imagine him, before, a professor in oversized tweed jackets, wandering the halls and trying not to bump into anyone, trying to avoid anyone noticing that he existed. It was, Clint realized, the exact opposite strategy that he had taken with his anger. And Steve, for that matter. _No wonder,_ Clint thought, but then shook his head, slightly - he didn’t know what had happened, that day, none of them had.

Bruce made a small gesture, indicating they should enter into the room. Clint was surprised to see that it was decorated. More decorated than Steve’s room, and certainly his, which still only had that Legolas figurine that Tony had left for him. There were some small items on a table next to the television, some a bit damaged, clearly things Bruce had picked up on his travels. But there were also watercolor prints on the wall - Steve would probably know who it was - a patterned blanket on the couch, and a statue that looked like it was from India next to the television. 

“Huh,” Steve said. 

“We could go to Pottery Barn, if you want,” Clint said. 

Bruce opened a drawer and pulled out an engraved box. _Typical,_ Clint thought, and he was actually disappointed that it wasn’t just in a giant bag. “You prefer a joint?” he asked, and Clint nodded. “You can sit down. Get comfortable.” 

Clint could at least plop down onto a couch on his own and Steve respected his ability to do this. Both of them were silent as Bruce rolled an enormous joint - bigger, even, than Steve’s hipster neighbor - then lit it up and inhaled. He sat in the chair across from Steve and passed it to him.

Steve furrowed his brow, then shrugged. Clint figured, with everything that had happened...what was the harm? The guy couldn’t get drunk, it was nice they had figured out something to give him a little relief. “That is really smooth,” Steve said, and passed it to Clint. “Much better than the last one.”

“Yeah,” Bruce said, and ran his hands through his hair. “Uh...Tony’s giving me a salary, but I don’t have anything to spend it on, so...”

“When did you figure out that this would work for you?” Clint asked, after he held the smoke in for as long as he could manage - it wasn’t very long, given the state of his ribs, but the fact that the weed was high quality made that a little easier to bear.

“I kinda got desperate,” Bruce said. “For a long time, I, uh...couldn’t do certain things, because...I don’t know, really, I just got really worked up, and-”

“You couldn’t even...take a shower?” Steve asked, and Bruce glanced over at Clint and Clint had to grin. _Yeah, he has that effect on everyone when he makes some allusion to sex_ he thought.

“No,” Bruce said. “First I tried painkillers, but that just...this, though, seems to subdue things and I guess it’s not unpleasant, for...” he waved his hand a little bit, and Clint nodded. “It’s not all the time, you know, dangerous science and all of that, but it’s good to relax.” 

Steve’s eyes were wide and his eyebrows high, and he nodded. “I’m glad you found something that works,” Steve said. There was something right below the surface of that comment - Clint could almost feel it, but he didn’t know what it was, other than Steve was trying to take it somewhere.

“Yeah, well, it’d be nicer with...” Bruce gave both of them a sad half smile and then sucked on the joint for a long, punctuated moment.

“If it’s not too personal-” Steve began, but Bruce cut him off and passed him the joint.

“I was with Betty for a long time,” Bruce said. “But it was also a long time ago, and she...I fucked up one of her relationships. I’m sure she’s moved on, by now, again, too. Besides, she probably saw what happened on TV, and if-” 

Steve pressed his lips together and glanced down at his feet and Clint put his arm around his shoulder. 

“Well,” Clint said. “You’ve got a swinging pad, now, some good weed, you could-”

“Right,” Bruce said. “How do you disclose your giant alter-ego in a web personal? Unless you want to set me up with Natasha?”

Clint considered this for a long moment - Natasha did like older men. But she was still a little bit scared shitless of the Hulk, and, therefore, Bruce. So that might not work. “Agent Hill is single,” he offered.

“She’s very attractive,” Steve said, then clapped a hand over his mouth. _Bless him,_ Clint thought.

“She is, objectively,” Clint agreed, and Steve removed his hand and smiled at him. 

“I’m really not sure how that would go over,” Bruce said.

“Fury gives a good shovel talk,” Steve said. Bruce arched an eyebrow.

“You’ve been watching _Buffy_?” 

“Dude,” Clint said. This certainly solved his earlier dilemma in re: television shows.

“What is _Buffy?_ ” Steve asked.

“I’ll order some pizza,” Clint said. “JARVIS! Make it so.” 

“If you think I’m going to find that reference funny, Master Barton, you’ve underestimated my sense of humor,” the AI replied, and Bruce laughed so hard that he almost fell out of the chair. Steve leaned back and grinned, watching it, and soon he was laughing too.

“I would be laughing,” Clint said, “but it hurts too much.”

“Aww,” Steve said, as Bruce clutched the edge of the chair and then righted himself. “I almost forgot, I’m sorry.”

“No, I’d prefer if you did,” Clint said, and then wondered if he had an afternoon appointment with Gretchen - indulging in illegal narcotics might be a little hard to explain. He bet she’d be a bit of a tattle-tale about it, too.

“There you all are!” Tony said, as the door to the apartment whizzed open, and once again, he continued speaking before he realized what was going on. “I come to ask someone about dinner because Pepper’s in Rio and there’s vegetables getting chopped and - are you all getting stoned?”

Steve looked down at the joint in his hand, and then looked at Tony. He nodded, very solemnly. 

Tony pointed at Bruce. “You are smoking weed with Captain America and you don’t think to call me?” Clint cocked his head. “You, I expect this sort of thing from you.”

“That hurts,” said Clint. 

“Yeah,” Tony replied, and made eye contact with him - and Clint could tell he was assessing his face, the bruises slowly expressing themselves in a rainbow of colors instead of just deep purple and black. Clint gave him a quick smile, debated on a thumbs up, and then giggled a little. Steve looked over and giggled at him. Tony pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose and grimaced, slightly.

“Can you order us a pizza?” Clint asked. “JARVIS won’t.”

“He used a Next Generation pun, sir,” JARVIS replied.

“Yeah, JARVIS doesn’t appreciate those,” Tony replied, and he shook his head slightly. “Not sure why.” 

“It’s because you prefer Kirk, isn’t it?” Bruce asked. 

“I’m not getting into that one with you again, Banner,” Tony said. “JARVIS, let’s get some pizza. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do this right.”

“We were planning on getting stoned, eating pizza, and watching Buffy,” Steve said, in a very helpful voice. 

“Well,” Tony said. “Did anyone think to invite Natasha?”

Natasha eyed them with some degree of interest, sighed, and then sat down on the couch. “What would Pepper think of all of this?”

“Pepper is in Brazil ogling hot Latin men,” Tony replied, and then said to Steve, “what, she is? Ogling, I mean...ogling is perfectly allowed in a relationship as long as it doesn’t turn into another verb. Like groping.” He nodded. 

Steve glanced over at Clint, who nodded as well. 

“And besides - _that’s_ how you’re going to express your disapproval? By putting it onto another woman, as though she’s responsible for me and the nature of our relationship should make me contrite and ashamed?” Tony asked. “I thought you were a feminist, Romanov.”

“Shouldn’t it be Romanova, then?” Bruce asked.

Clint winced, but Natasha just ignored this. He had never got the full story, nor had he asked for it. “You know, all of those were the right words but none of them made sense,” Natasha replied, took the second joint that Bruce had rolled, and inhaled sharply. 

“When Fury suggested we engage in bonding activities I don’t think this is what he had in mind,” Steve replied.

“He told you to engage us in bonding activities?” Natasha asked, a little amused. 

“Bondage?” Tony said, lying flat on his back on the floor. “No, thanks, I’m cool-”

“You are less able to snark the more you smoke, you know that, right?” Clint asked him. He was trying to be helpful, but Tony shot him a withering look. 

“He did, yes,” Steve said. “He suggested it might help me...lead. With leadership. I guess when you don’t have...things to do, you have to keep that up.” 

“If this gets brought up, I am totally telling him it was your idea,” Clint said, because he could hear the melancholy in Steve’s voice and the last thing anyone needed was him becoming sad and stoned - though at least, with his metabolism, it would pass more quickly than with most others. 

“It was yours,” Steve replied.

“Bruce instigated,” Clint said.

“Are they fighting?” Tony asked no one in particular. “If so, it’s adorable. It’s better than Captain Abearica.” 

“What?” Steve asked. Tony reached into his pocket and fished out one of his phones and began to type on it.

“In the wake of New York, we became quite popular, and apparently my father was quite prescient and trademarked a lot of Captain America iconography before the military thought to - minor legal battle, he eventually won - and when SI got requests for licensing, I told Pepper to approve everything as long as it wasn’t for a sex-toy. Which, you should give me a big thank you for, because a majority of the requests-” Steve shook his head, but it did little to deter Tony. Clint couldn’t help but laugh. “-Some were pretty clever, like the shield-”

“Captain Abearica,” Bruce said. He was Tony’s Voice of Reason, Clint realized, and it was shame it had taken so long for the two of them to find each other and begin their journey as platonic, heterosexual life mates.

“It’s a Build-a-Bear, but you put a little Captain America outfit on it and it has a shield accessory,” Tony said, and handed his phone over to Steve, who actually smiled at the little bear. “It’s more popular than the damn Iron Man one.” 

“Probably because the little outfit doesn’t obscure his fury nature,” Clint said.

“Do you think SHIELD has trademarks over our likenesses?” Natasha asked, narrowing her eyes.

“JARVIS, can you do that search?” Tony asked. “If not, I’ll get you in touch with my IP lawyer, we can trademark you through SI...and, then, profit!”

“Yeah, but that analogy doesn’t quite work?” Clint said. “Because we know what Step 2 is?” 

Tony narrowed his eyes at him and then made grabby hands at Steve, eager for his phone back despite the fact that he had a voice-interactive AI at his beck and call. Clint rolled his eyes. 

“Think of all the little girls who will love all the little Black Widow stuff,” Tony mused, turning to Natasha. 

“Not quite,” replied Natasha.

“I can definitely think of who’s going to want all the little Black Widow stuff,” Bruce said. 

“Pervert,” said Tony. 

* * 

Later, Clint was pretty sure that he passed out on the couch in Bruce’s room during the fourth or fifth episode of Buffy. He awoke snuggling into Steve’s chest, which was nice and firm and still comfortable - and it took him a moment to realize that Steve was carrying him, bridal style.

“Time to go off and deflower your mate?” Tony asked, and Clint grinned when Steve flipped Tony off. “Whoa, Captain Abearica-”

“This is why we’re leaving,” Steve said, and Natasha gave them both a lazy grin as Steve headed out of Bruce’s apartment.

“Maybe there’s hope for them after all,” Clint murmured.

“Mmm?” Steve asked, easily opening the door to his own apartment. Clint curled into him deeper - he knew, tomorrow, he was going to be embarrassed at how deeply undignified this display was for someone very, very close to forty, but right now he did not care.

“Bruce and Natasha - she didn’t even look scared, or...that look, you know, and she just accepted his weed,” Clint said. “Not that I’m endorsing that, but...I felt for him, you know? Are you tucking me in?”

“Aren’t you tired?” Steve asked, pulling the blanket up to Clint’s neck. “Though you should probably brush your teeth, you’re right...”

“Oh, God, Steve,” Clint said. “I took a nap, I’m awake now, I-” He tried to pull himself up, but winced. It felt like his ribs were rubbing into each other. “I, uh, missed you?” 

Steve cocked his head, and appeared to be deep in thought - Clint thought that this was going to really work against him, because Steve was just going to talk about not wanting to do further damage or whatever the hell that Gretchen had said - but then he smiled, softly. 

He took his time taking his clothes off, until he was down to just his boxer briefs, and Clint grinned as he got into bed next to him. “Hands up, let’s get you undressed,” Steve said. 

“Did you tell Gretchen to take the evening off?” Clint asked, as Steve carefully pulled his t-shirt off. 

“As soon as the weed came out,” Steve said, and slid Clint out of his pants. 

“You’re so good,” Clint said.

“Yeah?” Steve asked. He cupped Clint’s cock and massaged over his underwear, and Clint sighed as Steve drew his hand up and down. Clint’s cock filled quickly, and he pressed his lips together and met Steve’s eyes. Steve was smiling, an easy smile that didn’t come out that often, and Clint reached his good arm forward and wrapped his hand around Steve’s dick, tracing his thumb over Steve’s head through the fabric. Steve leaned in and they kissed, both hard and easy, Clint’s lips still hurting a bit because of their proximity to his bruised jaw - but Steve was gentle enough that he could look past it.

Steve pulled away to grab for some lube, and Clint waited for him to return to take his boxer briefs off. Steve slid them down slowly, then leaned in and kissed at the inside of Clint’s thigh. “Fuck,” Clint said.

“Not quite yet,” Steve replied, and gave Clint a pout that could best be described as seductive. He slipped out of his own underwear and laid down next to Clint. They kissed, then each coated a hand in lube.

Their lips barely broke contact the entire time, and, if they did, they merely drifted someplace else - a cheek, an ear, a neck. Clint moaned as Steve’s fingers traced all the right spots. Steve was too good at this, too able to make him undone and make him ache. He built him up perfectly, pulling him to the precipice and then holding him there until it was almost unbearable. Clint did his best, but knew he wasn’t up to his usual skill, especially since Steve had another hand to fondle Clint’s balls with and another thumb to tease his perineum with.

“God, Steve, you’re so good,” Clint said into his ear before sucking on the lobe. Steve came at this, and Clint shivered as he spilled over his hand and onto those perfect abs of his.

“Sorry,” Steve murmured, after a moment or two, and Clint shook his head as Steve’s grip firmed and he easily got Clint back to the edge and then held him again. Clint moved his to Steve’s thigh and clutched it, digging in despite the sticky moisture as Steve pulled the orgasm out of him. Clint closed his eyes and let it wash over him - it was the best he’d felt since Caracas, to be sure. 

“Sorry?” Clint asked, and Steve shrugged. 

“We should probably shower, huh?” Steve asked, and noting Clint’s grimace, put his clean hand on his chest and tangled his fingers in some of Clint’s hair. “I can hold you,” he said. Clint nodded. Whatever ominous overtones things had taken lately seemed a long way off.


	22. Chapter 22

“Who are you?” Steve asked. He thought it was a reasonable question to ask a random SHIELD agent who just turned up at the front desk. 

“Agent Garcia, sir,” was the reply. Steve peered into the video conferencing screen and narrowed his eyes. The Agent had already told him that.

“But what are you here...for, or to..?” Steve asked. He wished he sounded more coherent, but he had just got out of bed when the phone in Clint’s room had rang. 

“For Agent Barton, Captain. I thought the receptionist called his room.” There was a grin on Agent Garcia’s face, and Steve wondered if it was smug. It was hard to tell by just looking at his face on the tiny screen at the door to the elevator bay. 

“And I’m not going to let you up unless you let me know the reason for the house call,” Steve replied. He used the voice that he had worked on when he was selling war bonds, the one that was supposed to really let people know that he was telling the truth - that he was a serious person who meant business. Apparently, all of the previous expressions he’d used when he was...smaller hadn’t projected what he intended.

“I’m here to perform Agent Barton’s physical therapy,” he replied. Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes - really, how hard had that been? 

“I’ll let you up, then,” Steve said. Just as he was about to punch the access code in he realized that Clint wasn’t awake yet - he had sort of mumbled at Steve to answer the phone when it rang and then closed his eyes and turned his head to the side and went back to the sleep. “Just wait a few moments, please?”

“Certainly.” 

Steve walked slowly into his apartment and then into the bedroom. Clint was snoring lightly, a side effect of whatever had happened to his face. The bruises were slowly beginning to fade, and he had his stitches out, but he was still marred by the experience. It made Steve remember Bucky, the Commandos, even Howard and Peggy - nursing various injuries and wounds, pulling themselves together and going forward through just about anything. All while Steve was...fine.

“Hey,” Steve murmured, crouching down on Clint’s side of the bed. “An Agent is here to do physical therapy?”

Clint opened one eye - it was a spy trick, he assured Steve, being asleep but still being able to detect when someone entered the room. “Morris?”

“Garcia,” Steve said.

Clint sighed and pulled himself up, only grimacing slightly. “He’s the worst dick bag.”

“Is everyone who works at SHIELD a dick bag?” Steve asked. 

Clint grinned slightly as he sat up and put his feet on the floor. Steve put a hand on his thigh and smiled back. “Medical tends to be,” Clint murmured. “A lot of people don’t really like them, you know?” Steve arched an eyebrow. “I am always compliant, I will have you know, I’d like to get back into the field as soon as possible, get back to work...” Steve nodded, knowing that Clint would go on a mission tomorrow if they asked him to. But he was also worried for him and wondered when, or if, he would understand he had reasons not to be that cavalier anymore. 

“You were going to work out, weren’t you?” Clint asked.

“I can,” Steve said. There was something unsure in Clint’s voice - something that Steve wasn’t used to.

“His girlfriend...she’s still not back on duty, after the Helicarrier,” Clint said. Steve nodded and went and opened his dresser drawer, removing his sorts and a t-shirt as Clint rooted through one of the bags that Natasha had brought over for him.

Clint headed for the gym while Steve punched in the access code for the Agent. Garcia was wearing a pair of khakis and a button down - the first time Steve had seen a SHIELD agent outside of a suit of some sort. “Captain,” said Garcia.

“Agent,” Steve replied. “I was actually just about to go and do a bit of a workout myself.” 

“Oh,” said Garcia. He was quickly trying to survey the Avengers living space and take in as much as he could before he followed Steve to the gym.

Steve wasn’t sure if he was over thinking this. Maybe there weren’t any other physical therapists available. He just couldn’t help but feel that this was one of the many machinations of the group, some attempt to double check and make sure that the psychiatrist who cleared Clint for duty was right - or maybe they were checking up on Garcia. Either way, Steve didn’t really care for it. 

“This is a really nice set up,” Garcia said. Clint was leaning against the wall near the water fountain, filling up his bottle. “Agent Barton.”

“Agent Garcia,” said Clint. “It’s been awhile.” 

“Mmm,” he replied, and Steve gave Clint a quick smile before running through some cursory stretching exercises before he took to the track - he figured it would allow him to keep an eye on things. “Is Agent Romanov in?”

“I have no idea,” Clint replied, sitting down on the warm-up mat and then waving his hand at Garcia. 

“I haven’t seen her around, I assumed she was over here - you guys have a nice little fraternity set up, don’t you?” he asked.

“Sort of like the SHIELD barracks, but with much better facilities,” Clint said, and shrugged. He held in the wince that Steve knew the gesture caused. 

As Garcia slowly moved Clint through some fairly perfunctory exercises - stuff Clint would know, at this point - he kept an eye on Clint as ran. Steve knew what he was thinking. There was little Steve got out of running unless he was doing it to the peak of his abilities. The information was in his SHIELD file for anyone with the appropriate security clearance to see. Steve waved at him when he met his eye, and Garcia looked away.

Steve tried to be a little less circumspect after that, but he couldn’t help but hone in once Garcia started to touch and manipulate Clint to get him into certain positions. They were hardly speaking to one another unless the rehab session mandated it and Steve could feel the tension between the two of them crackle in the air - he had to wonder if it was more than just a badly injured girlfriend. And didn’t they have mandated counseling for that? As much as Steve griped about it, he was beginning to understand some of the points that his mandatory therapist was making. You would think the other ones would be smart and perceptive enough to point out that all of the blame being levied against Clint was because he was easy - easier than some alien-mistaken-as-a-God, to be certain, easier because he was still on the same planet. 

Garcia was done after thirty minutes, and Steve was glad his hearing had been enhanced so he didn’t have to run over in order to hear the instructions. “You know the drill, Barton, for the ribs at least. Your nurse said she’s coming over early this afternoon to get you into a soft cast for the wrist, but it will be another four weeks before we can start working on that.”

Steve could also see Clint’s lip curl from the distance. They were going to have to figure out something he could do.

“Great, thanks,” Clint said. Garcia stood, and then offered Clint a hand. Clint took it with his good hand, and he couldn’t hide the wince as he got up. For a moment Steve thought that Garcia had done something, but then he realized it was just Clint sore from all of the movement. Steve sighed.

“You know, Captain, you would probably get a lot more benefit if you amped up that workout,” Garcia said, turning and facing Steve as he ran towards him. 

“Good to know,” Steve said, and gave him another one of his bonds salesman smiles. Garcia looked away. 

“Such a dick,” Clint said, after he left. “He was a dick before he had reason to be a dick to me - he used to be a field agent, but fucked up one of his knees. So they sent him to get his P.T. certificate, or whatever.”

“You know,” Steve said, putting a hand on Clint’s lower back and gently rubbing, “that explains a lot about the therapists.”

Clint laughed. “I’m pretty sure they’re recruited. Usually from the Army. No one would take on that job, even if it meant staying at the agency.” 

“Breakfast?” Steve asked, and Clint shrugged. “I’ll make you something.”

“OK,” Clint said. He kissed Steve on the cheek and then broke contact to head into the kitchen.

Steve was surprised to find Natasha there, already making what appeared to be french toast. “Oh, God, Tasha, how did you know?” Clint asked, pulling up on the breakfast bar. Steve stood behind him for a moment, feeling a bit like an intruder, but then he shook it. 

“I was going to go and workout in the gym until I saw were doing PT,” Natasha said. She glanced at Steve. “Looks like Victor will get his gold star, though.”

“I thought that might be what was going on,” Steve said, and then felt a little stupid for it. He glanced at Clint and Natasha and was relieved that they both had completely neutral expressions - he still remembered the sting, on the Helicarrier, when he had blurted out how he got the reference to the flying monkeys and turned to see Tony’s look of utter disdain. 

“Spies like to play games with each other,” Clint said. 

“Are you making enough for Bruce?” Steve asked.

“Oh, he’s in the lab,” Natasha said, and she gave Steve a sort of cold look that didn’t quite fit with her features. _This is not a summer camp,_ it said, and Steve just shrugged back at her - war had made things so different. Things had just been different, maybe. “We drank tequila after you left,” she offered, as if to soften things. “I had to call Pepper to come and collect Tony.” 

“I’m sure she was happy about that,” Steve said.

“She sort of was?” Natasha said, cocking her head slightly, as though she hadn’t fully processed her assessment of the situation. “I got the impression, when I was...undercover, here...that she’d spent a lot of time, taking care of Tony. Her and Rhodey.”

“If Bruce woke up with a hangover, wouldn’t he just...you know, _Hulk hate tequila. Told Banner not eat worm._ ” Clint said.

“I don’t think his vocabulary is that advanced,” Steve replied.

“It seemed to be, when we were headed back to the Tower,” Clint said. 

“That was probably your concussion,” Natasha replied. Steve pressed his lips together. He hadn’t really noticed what Clint was doing, at that point - Steve was more concerned with making it to Natasha while Loki was still subdued, and as soon as they had located Clint and he had got up off of the office floor Steve had focused back on the main objective. 

“There was that,” Clint said.

“How bad was it?” Steve asked.

Clint shrugged. “I’ve had my brain bashed around so many times...I only blacked out for, like, thirty seconds. So - minor?” Steve shook his head. But then, this wasn’t a new thing, Clint just flinging himself around with no regard to his own personal safety. It was relieving, but in a way but it was also more alarming. It would be more difficult to change - it would be impossible to change, Steve corrected himself, because this was what his job called for. This was what probably got him on the list for the Avengers. “Besides, Tasha probably gave me a worse one earlier.”

“Necessary,” Natasha said, passing a plate of French toast to Clint. It was neatly coated in powdered sugar. Clint slid it over to Steve. 

“You’re the one that needs the calories,” Clint said. “Get him some ice cream, Tash.” 

“He can get his own ice cream,” Natasha replied. Steve almost wanted to ask her what put her in a foul move and then remembered _tequila, last night, and Tony Stark_. “And don’t get started on that again, Barton.” 

“What?” Steve asked.

“Clint always thinks, when he’s laid up, that he’s gained weight.”

“My suit is pretty skin tight, this is a concern...” Clint said, pouring maple syrup over his own plate of breakfast as soon as Natasha got it for him. Steve got up and went and got some orange juice.

“It’s more a problem with your eating habits than with your activity level, anyway,” Natasha said.

“That’s why I gave the big plate to Steve,” Clint pointed out. He was awkwardly cutting up his french toast with his fork - Steve wished that Clint would just let him do these things. 

Steve smiled slightly and ate his first piece of French toast. “This is really good,” he said. “Thanks, Natasha.” 

“It’s nothing,” Natasha said.

“It’s part of her mother hen thing,” Clint replied. “But, really, I’m OK now...”

“Well, that’s why I’m headed back to SHIELD this afternoon,” Natasha said. 

“Good,” said Clint, but his smile seemed a little too easy. Steve looked down and continued to eat his meal.

* * 

“You OK?” he asked, when he got back from his real workout. Clint was laying on the couch, watching a television show that Steve didn’t recognize. Just when he thought he was catching up on things...

“Yeah, why?” Clint asked. His broken wrist was resting across his stomach and he had a bag of ice on it. 

“Your wrist,” Steve managed, even though he had made a thinly veiled attempt to get something out of Clint - something that was near impossible, when Clint wanted it to be.

“Pressed down on it weird during therapy, or something,” Clint said. He turned the television off and turned around a little so that he could look at Steve.

“OK,” Steve said. “I’m going to get something to eat.” 

Clint shrugged, and Steve felt that familiar pit beginning to form and gnaw at his stomach. He didn’t know if this was how it was supposed to be because he had never done this kind of thing before, didn’t know what happened when the initial sparks of a relationship died down and you began to settle into one another. He glanced out the kitchen window into the view of the city and watched for a moment as a crane down the block began to reassemble a nearby building. He sighed.

“Steve, I’m just grumpy,” Clint said, sitting up a little bit. “I don’t want to...I don’t want some dick doing my physical therapy, I don’t want this-” he took the ice bag off of his wrist “-I’m bored, not being able to do anything-”

“There has to be something,” Steve said. “You’ve got the soft cast on now, you can take it off, right, to shower, and...” Tony had to have a pool somewhere in the tower, it was sort of obligatory for rich people, as far as Steve could tell from reality television. “We could try swimming. You could use your back-up cast.” 

“Swimming?” Clint said, and Steve nodded. “Steve...do you know how to swim?” 

“Well,” Steve said. “I know how to...keep afloat, we had to do this test, in the Army-”

“Was that before or after..?” Clint asked.

“Before,” Steve said, and he looked away from Clint for a moment, remembering how hard he had to work to stay afloat in the pool for the required four minutes and not have an asthma attack and not freeze to death. He didn’t float, there was nothing on him to aid him in floating, and that meant no insulation, either. The other men had laughed at him as his teeth chattered and he turned blue, and Erksine and Phillips had just watched from the sidelines. Erksine had pulled him aside for a check-up while everyone else headed for the locker room, but instead he had just wrapped a towel around him and shook his head at him. Go take a long, warm shower, soldier, he said, and Steve had nodded. He hadn’t wanted to get too attached, Steve realized, not until Steve was picked. And what good had that done? 

“Do you even have a bathing suit?”

“We can buy those,” Steve replied.

“You’re really going to make me do this?” Clint asked.

“I’m not going to make you do anything,” Steve replied, and probably sounded a little more terse than he wanted to. “I just thought-”

“No, you’re right,” Clint said. “I was just trying to kid, a little.” Steve nodded and Clint smiled at him, and it seemed to be a little bit more genuine. At least he had said something, Steve thought. _And remember what he said about the painkillers, last night..._ Steve reminded himself. Clint didn’t appear to have availed himself of Bruce’s weed again, which meant he had likely taken a pill - Gretchen had been pretty clear about how he needed to lower his dosages gradually. 

Like most times when he went shopping, Steve was amazed at all of the options at their gigantic neighborhood sports store. “We’re looking for swimming,” Steve said, when a sales person asked if they needed any assistance when they walked in the door. Clint grinned at this, and from the sales person’s disgruntled expression as she directed them, it appeared that this question was really just a form of greeting.

Swimming was tucked away upstairs, and Steve hardly recognized any of the items that were for sale. “What do you think?” he asked Clint, holding up a pair of tight fitting, though longer than he remembered shorts.

“Seriously?” Clint asked.

“Isn’t that what you wear?” Steve replied. Clint was eyeing up much longer, baggier shorts - which didn’t make much sense, since it seemed those would just drag you down.

“It is,” said a much more helpful salesperson as he approached. Steve had heard him coming but did his best to ignore the information, since it tended to weird people out who had no idea about his enhanced senses. “This fabric is actually designed to minimize drag - you can feel the texture on it.” Steve nodded, running his finger over the sharklike fabric. 

“See,” Steve said to Clint, taking a pair of the shorts off of the rack. “How are you going to swim in those?” He pointed at the longer shorts. 

Then he stepped back, for a moment, taking in Clint. Looking at him with fresh eyes, Steve supposed, he did look a little alarming - like he had got the shit beat out of him. Clint met his gaze with a hard stare. “Car accident,” Clint said.

“I’m sorry,” said the salesperson, and he returned his gaze to Steve.

“We’re going to try swimming,” Steve said, “for physical therapy.” The salesperson looked over at Clint’s wrist and nodded.

“It’s great for that,” he said. “Very low impact - very little chance of injury.” 

Steve nodded at Clint, and Clint smiled at the salesperson. “I’m just not sure about the sizing...”

“Well, you should definitely try those on,” said the salesperson.

“Oh,” Steve said. “Probably-”

“You’re this size,” Clint said, grabbing a pair of shorts off of the rack, and then another for himself. “We should probably get goggles, too, don’t want to get chlorine in your eyes.” 

“Caps, as well,” said the salesperson. “Chlorine can turn blonde hair green.” He grinned at Steve, and Steve smiled at him. 

“Well, thanks for you help-”

“David.”

“David,” Steve said. “That was nice, wasn’t it?” He asked, once they were out of earshot. “That was the best service that I’ve received since...” 

“He just wanted to see you in the little swim trunks,” Clint said, almost grumbling.

“Really?” Steve asked, and then thought through the encounter again. “Really?”

“Yes, Steve,” Clint said, voice becoming more patient. “Because it goes by waist size, and all he had to say was that it went by waist size, which you clearly know, because you’ve managed to find appropriately sized pants.” He glanced back and smiled slightly at Steve’s ass.

“Am I wearing my pants wrong?” Steve asked.

“No,” Clint said, quickly. “No, the pants are good.”

“Wait - the pants, because they...does that make me look-”

Clint closed his eyes for a moment. “No,” he said. “They just make your ass look good, and any self respecting gay men, straight woman, and possibly even straight men and lesbians, are going to want to see you in Speedo trunks.” He paused. “I’m actually amazed anyone got anything done when you were walking around in that suit.” 

Steve felt himself growing more and more red, and he would have jammed his hands in his pockets if he wasn’t carrying their purchases. Clint grasped one of his hands and squeezed it. “Most people like it when they get hit on, you know.” 

“But you didn’t.” 

“I’d prefer to keep that view for, ah, myself,” Clint said.

“OK,” Steve said. “I don’t understand any of this, you know.” Clint nodded and guided him towards the check out. 

* * 

“You want to go out for dinner?” Steve asked, as he opened the door to his apartment after their shopping trip - they’d decided to swim, tomorrow, given Clint’s physical therapy session that day.

“No,” Clint said, and he leaned into Steve slightly and put a hand on his waist, then pulled him over so he was facing Clint. “I want you.” 

“Oh,” Steve said. “OK, we can-” Clint cut him off with a kiss, pushing his tongue into Steve’s mouth and digging his food fingers into Steve’s ass. 

“I want to fuck,” Clint murmured, “but...” He pulled away and shook his head. 

“You’re sore?” Steve asked, and put a hand on Clint’s hip, where he knew there wasn’t residual bruising or a healing stab wound. 

“It just isn’t...I can’t move like I want to,” Clint said, but he glanced off to the side for a moment.

“What?” Steve said. “Oh, is there some way we can..?” 

“Dumbass,” Clint said, which Steve took to be a yes, so he just walked into the bedroom, set their bag on the floor, and sat down on the bed. “Well, Captain,” Clint said in the doorway. 

“I like...” Steve didn’t why he felt bashful about this, all of the sudden - but it was alright, it seemed to make Clint smile. He walked to Steve, and Steve spread his legs apart so Clint could stand between them and kiss him, run his hand through Steve’s hair.

“God, I know,” Clint said. “I like it too.” 

“Wait, is this because you were jealous?” Steve asked, leaning back as Clint kissed his harder and began to unbutton his shirt.

“Maybe,” Clint said.

“Oh,” Steve managed, as Clint sucked at his ear and down his neck. 

“Who wouldn’t be, being with someone who looks like you?” Clint asked, and Steve sloughed off his shirt so it puddled around his shoulders, giving Clint access to his chest. 

“Well...” Steve said, and then gasped slightly as Clint bit at his nipple, hard. Then he smiled, remembering how Clint had reacted when he had used his legs to pull him down onto him, to press him against the wall, even to carry him last night. “Oh.” 

“You’ll get there, Captain,” Clint murmured, and the smile he gave Steve was...wicked. Steve swallowed and smiled back.

Their clothes came off quickly, hands roaming around each other - and for the first time since Clint’s mission, Steve actually felt comfortable touching Clint, kissing him. He hadn’t broke last night, after all. Steve arranged the pillows so that Clint was inclined but still mostly upright, and kissed down his chest and stomach after Clint made himself comfortable.

“You’re...you know, too,” Steve said, halfway down to Clint’s hard cock. Clint worked his hand through Steve’s hair and tugged a little. “You want..?” He kissed lower, near Clint’s belly button.

“You think I’ll say no?” Clint asked, and Steve traced his tongue down until his lips grazed over Clint’s dick. He teased at first, just with his lips, then slowly worked his tongue around the head before taking Clint down. Clint moaned, and Steve smiled around his cock and massaged his balls gently. He went slowly until Clint tugged at his hair and pulled him up. 

The lube was still under a pillow from last night, and Steve pulled himself up onto Clint so their cocks were aligned and he was open to Clint. He steadied himself with his hands, cognizant that Clint only had the one to work with you. “Oh, God,” Steve said, as Clint slowly slid into him. The feeling was so much better, this time, because he knew what it was going to build to and what would come of it. “Yes, Clint...” He arched his back and pushed their cocks together, and Clint moaned. Steve clenched around his finger.

“That’s very good,” Clint said, and his voice was huskier, darker. He slid another finger in, this one more abruptly, and swirled around until he pressed down on Steve’s prostate. Steve yelped, a very undignified sound, but met Clint’s eyes to see him grinning at him. “Enough?” 

“Uh-huh,” Steve said, and Clint took his hand out and cupped Steve’s ass with it. Steve held out a hand and then used the lube to coat Clint’s cock, working his thumb a little over the tip. “You want me to-”

“Take it in your hand,” Clint said, holding Steve’s eyes. “And just guide yourself...” Steve did his best to comply, but the feeling was more alien than he anticipated as he began to sit down. Clint arched his hips, slightly, but Steve knew that it probably caused him a little bit of pin. Steve pressed his lips together and slid in, doing his best to open himself and accept Clint - and then, once he got past the initial pressure, Clint went into him easily as Steve moved down until he was against his hips. “Fuck, Steve, perfect...” 

“Yeah?” Steve said, then, as he adjusted himself and moved forward, “Yeah. That’s so good...”

Steve pushed his hips up, trying to get the rhythm down - it was odd, doing this from a different end, but he soon figured out how he needed to move, to slide up and down on Clint’s cock. “Uh...” Steve said, moving himself a little more forward and getting Clint’s cock deeper into him. “Uh, yes, that’s so...”

Clint had his eyes closed, and Steve reached forward and pushed some of the hair out of his face. “That’s it, Steve, just like that...”

“Clint, can you-”

“Mmm...” Clint murmured, flicking his hips slightly and pushing himself deeper into Steve, and Steve bit at his lower lip. 

“Yeah, just like that,” Steve said, and Clint gave him a slight grin. 

Steve liked that response, this feeling, having Clint underneath him and being the one to control the speed and depth of the thrusts, to adjust as he needed to make it better, easier. 

Steve arched his back and then moaned when Clint’s dick hit his prostate, and he increased his thrusts as he felt the warmth pool around his cock and spread out. Then Clint put a hand on him and began to stroke, and Steve closed his eyes and threw his head back, slightly, and worked his hips up and down. 

He came before Clint did, his orgasm building quickly and hitting him hard. Steve moaned and felt himself clench around Clint, and it took him a moment to resume. “Steve, I...fuck, yes, just like that...” Clint said, and Steve was still in a post orgasm haze as Clint came in him, perhaps a minute later, the waves of it continuing to ebb as Clint pressed into him again and again.

Steve rolled off of him quickly, not wanting to put his weight down on him. Instead he curled in next to Clint, careful to avoid any of the places that he knew were sore. He placed his head down on the pillow and kissed at Clint’s neck. Clint then turned and kissed his mouth, used his hand to trace his thumb along Steve’s jaw. “Thank you,” he said.

“For what?” 

“For doing-”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Steve asked. “I wanted to...and I’m happy to do-”

“I didn’t know if you...wanted that, again...” Clint said, and Steve kissed his neck.

“I’m not...either, I like, I...” There was a slight grin on Clint’s face that he couldn’t place, but this time, at least, in a good way.


	23. Chapter 23

Steve knew it was coming - he just wanted to prolong things. He liked having Clint in his bed each night, he liked waking up with him, he liked having a routine with him. But while Clint wasn’t going back on active duty, he no longer leading any nursing care - and there went whatever flimsy excuse they were using to keep him in the Tower. 

Clint waited until they were eating dinner - until Steve conveniently had a mouthful of grilled steak - before he said it. “I’m going to go back...tomorrow.” 

“Oh,” Steve managed, and swallowed. “OK.”

“OK,” Clint said. “It will just be easier, for the physical therapist to not have to commute-”

“I thought he was a dickhead,” Steve said.

“He is, which means I don’t want to listen to him complaining,” Clint said. “But you’re OK?”

“I...well,” Steve said. He took a sip of the red wine Tony had insisted that they have with their dinner, if they were grilling steak. Clint had googled it and Steve had to try it when he found out that it was a $265 bottle of wine. It did have a much smoother finish than some of the red wine he’d drank, but there was no point in comparing it since that had all been back during the war when there hadn’t been anything else. “I like you being here, but if-”

“I need space,” Clint said, and he ran his hand through his hair and pressed his lips together. “It’s not just you, it’s too much - Stark, and...” Steve nodded. He liked it, but he could see how someone like Clint could not - someone who had spent the past five or so years only tied to two people, one that he’d recently lost.

“I understand,” Steve replied, which was true. He gave Clint a smile. “It’s OK, really. You’re only a couple of blocks away.”

“You would think it’s a couple,” Clint replied. Steve was able to actually smile at that, and Clint looked relieved. Steve had to wonder if he had imagined this conversation going some other way - what was Steve going to do, force him to stay? Did people do that - and if so, how? He was going to need to watch more television. Though not, interestingly enough, reality television - and it was a good thing Clint had explained that to him. 

They both resumed eating, and then Clint took a sip of his wine. “I don’t want anyone to think I’m running.”

_Ah,_ Steve thought, and he hadn’t considered that. “Right,” he said. 

“Right,” Clint replied. “And it would be more practical, if I get a mission.”

Steve nodded, but repressed his smile. Not too long ago Clint would have started out with the first reason and then Steve would have had to tease the second and third reasons out of him. Steve understood, not really being ready for some full-tilt, one hundred percent of the time relationship. Hell, Steve didn’t even know if he was ready for this kind of thing yet, he just liked being close to Clint. It wasn’t like they had to interrogate a lot of things just yet. All they’d really had conflict over so far was Clint’s injury and how he didn’t like being treated certain ways. 

“So it’s OK?” Clint said.

“I said it was OK,” Steve replied. “Unless you-”

“No,” Clint said. “No, I wouldn’t. I...really, uh, like you, Steve.” 

“Great,” Steve said. “I really like you to.”

Clint smiled at this. 

They quickly found themselves in Steve’s bed after dinner, Steve gently running his hands over Clint, even though the bruises had largely deteriorated, Steve still thought of him as fragile - and he knew he was going to have to get it out of his head. There would be some point when they would fight together again, either as the Avengers or on some SHIELD mission, if SHIELD ever decided to make us of him.

Clint cupped his ass with his good hand, running his hand over it and then squeezing. “You’re a marvel.”

“You mean that my ass is a marvel,” Steve said, mostly into Clint’s neck. 

“Yes,” Clint said. “It is a very, very good ass.” Steve felt a blush rise - he had never imagined that someone would be saying something like that to him. “Steve...you’re still not used to it?”

“I’ve never had anyone touch me...” he met Clint’s eyes and gave him a wry smile, but Clint’s look was a little more firm, almost seeming to say, _I’ll have to make up for that._

When they were on the bed Clint ran his mouth all over Steve, lathing his tongue over his cock and teasing him, bringing him close to orgasm several times before he finally pulled Steve over the edge. Steve gasped as he came and for a moment saw black, or white - he didn’t really see anything, was the point, and he felt like he finally exhaled when Clint was leaning next to him, head propped up with his hand. 

“Oh, God,” Steve said. 

“Well,” Clint said. “Possibly. Still out for debate.”

“You’ve been spending too much time around Stark,” Steve replied. Clint arched an eyebrow at him, then kissed him. They touched for some time, kissing each other all over their body, stroking and carefully working each other over. 

“How..?” Clint asked, at some point, Steve kissing down the side of his abdomen, hand forward, stroking Clint. 

“If you...I mean, I think, I like...why are you grinning at me?” 

“I sort of suspected this might happen,” Clint said. 

“What might happen?”

“After the other night...last week, and then...you just to seem to like doing it that way.”

“I guess,” Steve said. “Yeah, I mean, I’m happy to...” Clint rolled, thrusting his hips so that his cock brushed against Steve and kissed him. 

“Just shush, Steve,” Clint said, and his hand trailed down Steve’s back and Steve sighed. 

* *

“Where’s Hawkguy?” Tony asked, three days after Clint had taken his things and got in a cab to go back to SHIELD. Tony grinned after his own joke.

“You do that just for yourself, don’t you?”

“Who else do we really have?” Tony asked, and Steve frowned at that, then shrugged. “So, questioned posed - answer?” 

 

“He’s coming over for dinner tonight in a few minutes,” Steve said, setting down the massive book - the last one, so far - and glancing at the clock. Clint should be on his way. 

“How far are you? Did they-” Steve shook his head at him, and Tony shrugged. “Does this imply that he’s not currently residing here? Did he leave any feedback, because I’m always looking to improve accommodations-”

“SHIELD wanted him closer at hand,” Steve replied, and shrugged. “There wasn’t any feedback, I don’t think, but I’ll ask him tonight. Or you can.”

“Huh,” Tony said, and he sat down on the couch next to Steve and leaned in slightly, examining him. “So you haven’t like, broken up, or anything, because it would really suck to be the person that breaks Captain America’s heart-”

“We’re fine,” Steve said. 

“Yes, but that sounds terse, you know, you can talk to me, Steve, I’ve had experience with these things-” 

“You’re really that invested?” Steve asked.

“I’m rooting for you crazy kids, sure, so is Pepper, probably Bruce, Rhodey thinks you’re cute...” Steve shook his head. 

“That’s really great,” he said. “I’m glad we’ve got all that support.”

“I bet Natasha is supportive, too, she keeps giving you mooney glances - hey! Maybe she wants a threesome. You should figure that out. That would probably be a transformative experience-”

“Thanks for the advice, Tony,” Steve said.

“Don’t listen to a thing he says,” Bruce added, and both Tony and Steve turned to see him leaning in the doorway.

“How long have you been listening in?” Tony asked, and then turned to Steve. “Despite his alter ego, he’s a lot more stealth than you would think.”

“I would think Dr. Banner is quite stealth,” Steve replied, glancing at Bruce, who was smiling slightly. “He evaded the Army and the government for some time, after all...”

“But not SHIELD,” Bruce added, a little bitter.

“Yeah, but they had your back,” Tony replied. “Sort of. Like they sort of have all our backs. Depending.” 

“And that doesn’t bother you?” Steve asked, surprised by how the conversation had turned serious.

Tony shrugged. “It’s better than what I’ve got from a lot of other people, organizations...besides, what else do you expect from shady extra-governmental military organizations that casually mess around with things like the Tesseract?” 

“I...I’ve known an organization like that,” Steve replied.

“Have you not watched _Star Wars?_ Tony asked.

“What?” Steve and Bruce said, in unison.

“How easy it is, to go over to the dark side...look at how it tempted Luke-” 

“I don’t really think you can compare the Red Skull to Luke Skywalker,” Bruce said.

“No, he’s Darth Vader - ignoring, of course, the first three movies-”

“Of course,” Bruce said.

Steve frowned. He had watched the movies, but hadn’t paid that much attention beyond thinking about the similarities between Clint and Han Solo and marveling at the special effects. 

“My point is, the fact that they’re still on the side of heros...”

“Profound,” Bruce said.

“It sort of is reassuring?” Steve said, after considering the point.

“And look at that! You followed a conversation with a pop culture reference,” Tony said, clapping him on the knee. Steve looked down at the hand and then looked at Tony.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m one of your two’s experiments,” Steve said.

“Honestly, Steve, we would have asked for your consent - I’m really big on...” Tony trailed off, and looked genuinely concerned, and then glanced at Bruce.

“It’s OK,” Bruce said, and he finally walked over from where he had been standing in the doorway over to the chair opposite the two of them. 

“No, it’s actually not OK,” Tony said, his voice vehement, and Steve noticed that he was clutching one of his fists.

“There’s nothing that can be done about it,” Bruce said, but he sighed.

“What happened?” Steve asked, because it was clear that they were setting him up for that.

“Ross engineered everything - I don’t know why he thought I would make a good test subject,” Bruce said, but Steve could see why - if you didn’t pay that much attention to him, you could think he had a lot of similarities to Steve. “Maybe it was because I was around - or I was dating his daughter. Who knows?”

“Guys an asshole,” Tony said.

“I thought it was just...you know, I can’t even say what I was thinking,” Bruce said. “Because of how it turned out - and maybe I didn’t-”

“Don’t do that,” Steve said. 

“That’s easy for you to say,” Bruce replied. “Anyway, the accident was planned. Everything was planned, and I fell right into it - well, the result certainly wasn’t.” He shrugged. 

“Bruce-” Steve began, but he really didn’t have anything to say. He wished that things had gone differently. Erksine shouldn’t have died - but then, bad things could have come from that, as well? He couldn’t imagine a whole unit of super soldiers, or how he would fit into it. How it would have influenced the war, and then after...he sighed. He wished, he supposed, that people hadn’t spent more than half a century trying to recreate what had happened to him. 

“It’s not your fault, Steve,” Bruce said. Steve shrugged again.

“Are you talking about heavy shit?” Clint asked, walking in and carrying a twelve pack of rather fancy looking beer - as though he had anticipated it wouldn’t just be Steve.

“We are,” Steve said.

“How are you?” said Tony. “Do you have heavy shit you’d like to discuss?”

“Don’t think so,” Clint said, setting the beer on the coffee table and then settling in next to Steve. “Beer?”

“Definitely,” Tony said. “Oh, good choice - Canadian microbrew, didn’t know you could get this in the U.S.-”

“You just need to know where to look,” Clint said, handing a bottle to Steve to open, which he passed to Tony, and then one for Bruce and himself. 

“Please tell me there is some Canadian store out there that sells Tim Horton’s donuts,” Tony said.

“There are Tim Horton’s out in the city,” Clint said, waving his arm towards the window. Steve smiled at him, hoping that this was the end of their talk. Bruce was right - there was only so much that could be said about the incident and how bad each of them felt for what it lead to. 

“What?” Tony asked. Clint nodded, almost sage.

“You need to get out more,” he said.

Tony furrowed his brow at this. “Yeah, you know-” Steve looked down, not really wanting to stare at him. He never really talked about what happened with the Mandarin. 

“Oh, right,” Clint said. Bruce frowned, then nodded. Clint scratched the back of his head and then drank his entire beer.

“That’s impressive,” Tony said, voice still a little tight. “I haven’t been able to do that since college.”

“Weren’t you fifteen in college?” Bruce asked.

“Yes, I was,” Tony replied. “Technically fourteen, when I started, graduated at seventeen much to dad’s dismay - really, should have been able to take on undergraduate in two years - but then kept around, puttering in some doctoral programs...if I weren’t so notorious I would have pretended to be an undergrad.” 

“It took me three years at Harvard, too,” Bruce said, and this was the thing about these kinds of conversations, Steve realized, once it started you could pull out of the serious stuff for a few minutes but it was going to come back because everyone had started picking at the scabs. 

“Me too,” Clint said, and then smiled as he handed Steve another beer. “You should drink one.”

“I don’t really like beer?” Steve said, but then shook his head.

“All the cool kids are doing it,” Tony said.

“That might be the first time anyone has ever called me a cool kid,” Bruce replied.

“I would have liked to go to college,” Steve said, because so far he’d been silent. “I mean, I went to art school, but...college like it is nowadays, where you can take classes and learn about all sorts of things-”

“Why don’t you?” Tony asked.

“What?” Steve said. 

“You could,” Tony said. “No one knows that some guy named Steve Rogers is Captain America and OK, sure, some pictures of you without the cowl are around from New York and World War II-”

“But most people will be more inclined to believe, if you just shrug and say you look like him, rather than being him-” Bruce added. They were plotting, Steve could see it. They’d be filling out applications for him tomorrow in their lab. 

“You’d really just have to change your hair,” Clint said. 

“My hair?” Steve replied.

“Sort of iconic,” Tony said. “Very retro.” 

“I can’t cut it,” Steve said. “It just grows back.”

“It stays the same length it was at the time of the serum?” Bruce asked, and Steve could see the wheels begin to whirl in his brain, and so Steve just shook his head at him. Better not to go down that road. Steve had, and he didn’t like where it took him.

“Well, you just need to change the part,” Tony said. “Hawkguy could go with you.”

“You already used that one,” Steve said. “Twenty minutes ago.” 

“Not in front of him,” Tony said, rolling his eyes at Steve.

“It’s OK, not like I haven’t heard that before - besides, much as I would like to...do college things, I’ve already got a degree,” Clint said. “You could at least try not to look shocked,” he added, mostly to Tony. Steve felt a little swell in his chest, the need to defend-

“I don’t doubt your intelligence,” Tony said, holding his hands up, “I mean, anyone who can figure out how to use a bow and arrow like that, you’re doing some advanced shit in your head - more, my question is, when did you have the time?”

“Got some credits from the Army,” Clint said. “Then part-time with SHIELD.” He shrugged. Bruce and Tony looked at each other, then Clint.

“What is your degree in?” Bruce asked.

“American Studies,” Clint said, and Steve could tell he sounded defensive.

For good reason. “What kind of major is that?” Tony asked, and Bruce rolled his eyes. He probably would have elbowed Tony in the ribs if they were seated together.

“An interdisciplinary major,” Clint said.

“English, History, PoliSci, Soc, right?” Bruce said. “What, Tony? I taught at Culver, remember, I had students I advised...” 

“OK, great, I’m sorry,” Tony said, and Steve passed him a beer. Tony nodded. “Steve should major in that.”

“Were you trying to make a joke?” Steve asked. Tony sighed. 

“I’m sorry I said you had a fake college degree,” he said to Clint.

“Apology accepted,” Clint replied.

“You should have apologized sooner, really,” Bruce murmured. “Even if he’s got a broken wrist he still probably could have caused you unpleasant amounts of physical pain really quickly.” Clint gave Tony a toothy grin - and it was apparent that Tony had started to think of Clint as a person, some guy who had specific tastes in movies, food, and music, rather than just some SHIELD agent and assassin. It made Steve want to smile, but he kept it in.

“Did you two have any food you were going to cook?” Bruce asked, “or just vague dinner plans?” 

“Not really,” Steve said, and glanced at Clint, who in turn glanced at the beer - so he knew this was probably going to be a result. Steve gave him a slight smile.

“There is a really good dim sum place that reopened down the street,” Tony said.

“That sounds good,” Clint said.

“You realize we’re going to have to order so many little dumplings to feed Steve,” Bruce said.

“Well,” Tony said, “I don’t think he’ll break the bank.”

Steve set his beer down and put a hand on Clint’s thigh. Clint smiled at him, and then shrugged at Tony. Steve felt centered, again, this sense that things were actually OK which he hadn’t felt in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's over! Done! I can't believe that the little imp of an idea - you should really write some Clint/Steve, there isn't enough of it - turned into almost 60k...still, I enjoyed it, and I have to thank everyone who has stuck me with it and commented and kudosed and read. Thank you for the encouragement along the way. 
> 
> Also I've got a sequel outlined, but there are one or two things I want to work on before that - not to mention original stuff I really need to pay attention to, and, uh, grad school papers.
> 
> Anyway, thanks again, everyone!


End file.
